


human again

by gureisu



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, cohesive oneshots, from tumblr, most chapters are T rated, only chapters 7 and 11 are NSFW, prompts, saeyoung loving hours, set during and after SEs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29209053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gureisu/pseuds/gureisu
Summary: He pauses and for a long moment you both listen to the rain.“I don’t want to die tomorrow,” he says finally.Your heart misses a beat. Right. It’s not like you’d forgotten about the imminent danger, forgotten the reason why you were here, forgotten the unspoken “if I die” that modified everything he’d asked of you the night before.“That’s…a normal thing to feel,” you respond slowly.“Not for me,” he says.--A series of oneshots based on lyrics from the Ingrid Michaelson album Human Again, progressing chronologically through and beyond the Secret Ends. Originally posted on tumblr in January.
Relationships: 707 | Choi Luciel/Main Character, 707 | Choi Luciel/Reader
Comments: 39
Kudos: 118





	1. walking into fire with you

**Author's Note:**

> These thirteen chapters were originally posted on tumblr over the first thirteen days of January 2021. Each chapter is based on a different lyric from the Ingrid Michaelson album Human Again.
> 
> I loved writing these prompts and I wanted to share them here too. I'll post one every day till they're all up! Check out my tumblr for a LOT more short Mystic Messenger writing! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gureishi
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter rating: G

Plink. Plink. Plink.

A stream trickles over a wall of rocks before you: a tiny waterfall. You’re soothed by the sight of it, and you reach out a hand to feel the cool water on your fingers.

Your hand catches on a warm, rough blanket, rather than cold water, and your eyes blink open.

Not a waterfall, but the pattering of rain on the roof.

For a moment, you’re disoriented. It’s pitch black, so dark you can’t see your own hand. The blanket tangled around you is thicker than the smooth sheets you’d slept under in Rika’s apartment. You almost expect to hear the familiar sound of typing reverberating from the corner, but you hear nothing but the rain, hitting the roof with increasing intensity.

Typing.

Seven… 

You sit up, squinting in the dark—feeling a little frantic.

You know where you are, now, of course—his safe house, the little cabin in the middle of nowhere that he’d inexplicably found without the help of a map (“It’s not on any map,” he’d assured you, laughing.)

The past few days come back to you at once as your eyes gradually adjust to the darkness. You no longer feel tired. As more recent events flood your mind, your heart pounds harder, and you wiggle a little, the cold hitting your naked body even through the thick blanket.

“Sev—Saeyoung?” you say hesitantly, stumbling over the new name, which is not yet familiar on your lips. You can’t feel him beside you and a small, unreasonable part of you whispers none of it was real.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and surprisingly close. You automatically shift toward the sound and find his back, bare and warm. You still can’t see much, but it seems he’s perched on the edge of the small bed, facing away from you. “You’re awake,” he says, and there’s a certain quality to his voice that you recognize.

“You okay?” you ask, and you press your cheek against his back. Your instinct tells you to launch yourself at him, curl into his lap and look into his face and assure yourself that he’s here and he’s alright and he still loves you. You resist. It’s all so new, and he’s like a lost kitten, starved for and terrified of your affection all at once.

He leans into your touch and you’re relieved, releasing the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“I—“ he starts and then stops again. He doesn’t turn to face you, but he does reach back and take your hand, gently tugging your arm forward and around his chest. You follow his lead and wrap your other arm around him too so you’re embracing him from behind—you can feel his rapid heartbeat under your fingers. You press a feather-light kiss to the back of his neck, and he shivers. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he says, his train of thought lost, his voice low.

“I do,” you respond, and he almost laughs. “But please tell me what’s worrying you.”

He shakes his head, and his curls tickle your forehead. “You don’t let me get away with anything.”

“Nope.”

He pauses and for a long moment you both listen to the rain.

“I don’t want to die tomorrow,” he says finally.

Your heart misses a beat. Right. It’s not like you’d forgotten about the imminent danger, forgotten the reason why you were here, forgotten the unspoken “if I die” that modified everything he’d asked of you the night before.

“That’s…a normal thing to feel,” you respond slowly.

“Not for me,” he says.

He wiggles out of your arms so he can turn to face you, and at last you see the flash of his golden eyes through the darkness. He scoops your legs on top of his own and you feel a thrill at the sudden contact. He leans toward you until his forehead is resting on yours.

“Everyone’s afraid of dying, babe,” you say after a moment, touching his cheek. You feel him squirm beneath you in response to the term of endearment and you shift your hips, climbing all the way into his lap. The closeness feels so easy, so natural—as if you’d had this intimacy between you all along.

“I wasn’t,” he says, meeting your eyes. “I’ve been in plenty of life-or-death situations. It’s not like I was trying to be a martyr or anything, I just—I was worried about things like getting in trouble with my boss or dying in a really painful way, or, you know—” He swallows. “Dying without seeing Saeran again. But actually being dead—like, being gone from the world—I didn’t really care.”

“I hate that,” you say, knowing you’re whining, knowing you’re being honest. You can’t meet his intense gaze anymore, and you break eye contact. Saeyoung has been very clear about his disregard for his own life. It doesn’t make it easier to hear.

“I’m sorry,” he says, tilting your chin back toward him with one calloused finger. “That’s just it, though. It hit me tonight, when I was lying next to you, after—” He trails off, and you feel heat rising on your cheeks. “I lay there listening to your breathing as you fell asleep, and I thought, ‘I don’t want to die.’ And then I thought, ‘Huh.’ Because I just—that’s a new one, for me.”

Wow.

You’re surprised at the hot tears that prick the backs of your eyes.

“Saeyoung,” you say, and he shivers at the sound of his real name. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist and fix him with what you hope is a look of determination. “You are allowed to want to live.”

“Am I?” His voice sounds weak and he gazes at you with wonder in his eyes, like a small child looking for answers.

“Yes,” you say firmly. Then you press a kiss to his lips and he responds instantly, easily, parting his lips just slightly so you feel his breath on your tongue.

“I didn’t tell you why I’m scared of dying all of a sudden,” he whispers against your lips.

“Because you were so blown away by how amazing I am in bed?” you tease. He lets out a surprised chuckle.

“Well, yeah—” 

“Yes?”

“Ye—no! I mean, yes. But no.” 

You laugh and even though you still can’t quite make out his features in the dark room you can picture exactly what face he’s making.

“I guess that’s part of it,” he admits, still laughing. You know he’s blushing. “But also I just—I started to picture a future with you. And I realized I want that.”

You take a slow, steady breath. Inside, you’re singing, jumping, doing a little dance around the dark, cold cabin. It’s not just that he wants a future with you, though you’re thrilled to hear it—more importantly, he wants a future at all. You know him well enough to understand how significant that is.

“So you won’t die tomorrow, then,” you say, and you’re surprised by your own confidence. You are overwhelmed by the desire to protect him. You curl your hands in his hair, wanting to feel the texture of him against your skin.

“Say that again,” he urges, nuzzling his face against your throat. He finds your pulse with his lips and kisses it and you can’t help grinding your hips against his, lighting up at the sensations, at the possibilities.

“We won’t die tomorrow because I need you alive, Choi Saeyoung,” you say, grabbing his face with both hands and fixing him with what you hope is a stern look.

“Ahhh,” he moans, closing his eyes and pressing his face against yours. You feel his eyelashes on your cheek. “Then I won’t die,” he says. “You know I can’t resist you when you look at me like that. You know I’d do anything for you.”

“I know,” you say, moving your hips against his with more purpose this time, relishing in the low growl he emits as he wriggles beneath you.

And then he’s moved before you realize it, knocking you back so you’re pinned under him. He has a wicked glimmer in his eyes as he stares down at you, hungrily, adoringly.

“I feel like I can do anything,” he says, his voice low. And he kisses you and you’re lost in the heat building between you and the sound of his heartbeat, pumping the blood through his veins, pounding out the rhythm of his life. 

Above you, on the cabin’s steel roof, the rain continues to beat out its own rhythm, matching the sound of your breathing.


	2. i won't surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How is he?” you ask, perhaps unnecessarily. 
> 
> Saeyoung sighs and you feel that he is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
> 
> “He—comes and goes,” Saeyoung admits, pulling away to look at you. You take a seat in the hard plastic chair beside him and he immediately takes your hand. His too-strong grip gives away the anxiety he’s hidden under his soft smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a liiiiil angst this time~ I missed yesterday (oops) but I'll keep posting these every day till they're all up!
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter rating: G

You see him before he sees you, and that in and of itself is strange.

His hair stands out amidst the whites and grays of the hospital corridor. The nurses’ scrubs are various shades of pastel and the signs on the walls are white and the doors are all white or gray, as if somebody tried to give this wing of the hospital an overall sense of calm. If this was intentional, it was also unsuccessful—in fact, the dissonance between the light blue and purple and yellow scrubs and the general emotional quality of the place makes you feel nauseous.

And there is Saeyoung, his hair hanging messily over his face. His head is bent, resting against his hands. You wonder if he’s slept.

“Hey,” you say softly, trying not to alarm him. He always knows where you are, always hears you, sees you, senses you first. His lack of responsiveness tells you everything you need to know.

At the sound of your voice, his head shoots up, and you catch a glimpse of his exhausted expression before he molds his face into a smile for you.

“Hi, babe,” he says, and he holds open his arms and his embrace is as warm as ever as you step into them, letting him drape himself around you. But you can feel the tiredness in his muscles, in his face as he leans it against your shoulder.

“How is he?” you ask, perhaps unnecessarily. 

Saeyoung sighs and you feel that he is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“He—comes and goes,” Saeyoung admits, pulling away to look at you. You take a seat in the hard plastic chair beside him and he immediately takes your hand. His too-strong grip gives away the anxiety he’s hidden under his soft smile.

“But he let you sit with him today.”

“Yeah. He’s with the doctor now, but I’ve been in there all day. He hasn’t yelled at me since this morning, actually.” You’re surprised by a new tone in Saeyoung’s voice: it’s pride.

“That’s really good,” you say, because you know that it is. You’ve been in and out too, but he hasn’t spoken to you yet. Saeyoung says that it’s for the best, for now—if he won’t acknowledge you, he won’t yell at you, either. You think differently: guilt radiates off him in waves, and you suspect that it’s stubbornness and fear rather than apathy that keep him from even looking your way.

“For a minute, earlier—I was just sitting and playing a game, and he looked up at me and asked what I was doing,” Saeyoung continues, and now he’s almost bouncing in his seat, really happy about this—happy to remember this, happy to relate it to you. It’s the sort of childlike joy that you’d associated with him when you’d first “met,” over the messenger, what feels like a lifetime ago.

“He’s making progress,” you agree, not wanting to Saeyoung to get his hopes up too much, too soon—but knowing how much a normal interaction like this means to him.

Suddenly, there’s a crashing sound from the room, and Saeyoung jumps up. You follow suit; Saeyoung’s at the door before you have a chance to stop him.

Saeyoung pushes the door open, and the doctor meets him in the doorway, blocking him from the room.

The doctor speaks to Saeyoung quietly, but the crease in her brow tells you enough.

After a moment, the doctor moves past Saeyoung, pointedly shutting the door behind her with a click that echoes through the long hallway. He returns to you and falls back into his seat. The momentary joy is gone from his expression; the dark circles under his eyes are more prominent than before as he rubs a hand over his face.

“What happened?” you whisper. There are nurses moving around in the hallway now—it must be a shift change.

“He didn’t hurt her,” Saeyoung says, with some relief. “But he was going to.”

You take his hand again, rubbing your fingers over his. His hands, always so steady, are shaking a little.

“She said he was improving,” Saeyoung continues. “She said she told him he seemed to be doing better. She told him that it seemed like having me there was helping him. That’s when he—”

“Yeah.” You aren’t sure what else to say. You’ve never seen so much loathing as you see in Saeran’s eyes when he looks at Saeyoung. It makes you want to cry.

Saeyoung balls his hand into a fist and you move your fingers to his wrist, gently stroking his pulse point. This seems to pacify him a little, and he turns to you, a steely look in his eyes.

“This is it,” he says. “This is what I’ve been waiting for my whole life. I’m staying by his side…no matter what happens.”

You nod. You know this. This determination, this fierce love, is one of the things you most adore about him.

“Even if things don’t—even if it takes years. Even if I eventually have to—” He cuts himself off, but you know what he’s thinking. Even if we have to run away from here.

“I know,” you say. “You love him.”

Saeyoung exhales slowly, unsteadily, his eyes very bright.

“I love him,” he says. Then he smiles, and despite the exhaustion written all over his face, the smile reaches his eyes this time. “You better be prepared,” he adds, reaching up to touch your nose with the tip of his finger.

“For what?” you ask. He’s giving you whiplash, here.

“Well, I love you, too,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “And when I love somebody, I’ll go to the ends of the earth. I can’t be stopped.”

You laugh and the sound takes you by surprise, so jarring in the false peacefulness of the corridor.

“Consider me warned,” you answer. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and he reciprocates, kissing you once on the lips, firmly. “Now go,” you say, gesturing to the door with a tilt of your head. He kisses you again, more tenderly.

“I love you,” he says again. You know.

“I’ll be here,” you say. He winks at you as he goes to the door, lingering for a moment with his hand on the doorknob. “You’re doing the right thing,” you add.

Saeyoung smiles gratefully. He takes a deep breath and opens the door.


	3. no one's gonna wait for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let me help,” says Saeran finally.
> 
> “Huh?” Saeyoung is so surprised he nearly falls from his chair. He catches himself, wanting nothing less than to look like a fool in front of his brother.
> 
> “I can probably do it faster than you can,” Saeran says, finally crossing the threshold and stepping into Saeyoung’s office. Suddenly, Saeyoung is self-conscious—of the code on the screen, of his stupid, childish decorations, of the general clutter. Saeran would never just leave piles of crap everywhere like this, he finds himself thinking. He almost tries to block the screen with his body, but catches himself.
> 
> He’s trying, Saeyoung reminds himself. He’s really trying right now. For god’s sake, let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's ALL about the brothers and even there's no romance in it it just might be one of my favorites??
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter rating: T

Blue light and the familiar feeling of his favorite keyboard under his fingers.

_This feels…normal._

For the first time in a while, Saeyoung is in his office. He’s spent years taking and re-making and destroying other people’s data. It feels so strange, this time, to be destroying his own.

He pushes himself back and forth in his chair with one foot as he types. It won’t take all that long to erase every trace of himself from the agency’s system—this kind of thing is like nothing for him. He’s not sure why he’s been putting it off.

“Hey.”

A quiet voice from the door startles him—he finds that he’s being taken by surprise a lot, lately—and he spins his chair around.

His twin is standing in the doorway, leaning a little awkwardly against the frame. Saeyoung notices he’s changed his clothes, and he realizes it’s the first time he’s seen Saeran in anything other than a hospital gown or his clothes from Mint Eye. The first time in years, anyway.

“Hi,” Saeyoung responds, matching his brother’s level tone of voice. He spent years in the agency learning how to meet people at their level—how to mold himself to fit any situation, and how to use that to his advantage. It was never hard for him before. Now, with his own brother, the stakes are so much higher.

“What are you doing?” asks Saeran, and Saeyoung notices that his voice catches in his throat. This is hard for him.

_But he’s here. Talking to me._

Saeyoung represses the feeling of glee that surges within him. _Stay calm. Stay level-headed. Don’t be a total weirdo and freak him out and make him never want to talk to you ever again._

“Are you hacking?” Saeran asks, and Saeyoung realizes he hasn’t said anything yet. He hesitates, going over his options in his mind. His first instinct is to lie, to rush Saeran out of the room and away from the computers and this shitty, stupid job, as far away as possible from the life that Saeyoung never wanted for him.

Saeyoung’s an excellent liar. He’s been doing it for years.

_And how well has that worked out for you with him so far?_

Saeyoung’s fingers inadvertently drift to his neck, still purpled from his brother’s hands. It’s only been a few days since the last time his brother tried to kill him. It’s only been a few days since Saeran agreed to _maybe_ start trying to believe _some_ of what Saeyoung had to say.

_Don’t let him down._

“Yeah,” he says finally, carefully avoiding his brother’s penetrating green eyes. “I’m, uh—just finishing some things up with my old job.”

Saeran raises his eyebrows.

“I thought you weren’t doing that anymore,” he says stiffly. “ _She_ said…”

He trails off, and Saeyoung is surprised to hear Saeran reference you at all. He’s never once looked at you since leaving Mint Eye for the last time—whenever you’d come into his hospital room, he’d mostly pretended to be asleep.

“You’re right,” says Saeyoung. “I’m not. I’m, um. Erasing it all. Me. Her. Vanderwood.” He hesitates. “You.”

For a split second, Saeran’s eyes widen, and he looks almost surprised. Then his gaze hardens.

“You don’t have to erase me,” he says harshly. “If anybody finds me, I deserve whatever I get.”

Saeyoung hates this, hates it so much, wants to tell his brother sweet lies like he used to, once to assure him that no one’s coming for him, he’s done nothing wrong, he’ll be safe no matter what.

He knows better now.

“I know you feel that way,” he says carefully. “I’ve felt that way too, lots of times. But please—let me just give us a fresh start.”

Saeran pauses, and Saeyoung isn’t sure if he’s going to demand that Saeyoung stay out of his business, or storm out of the room, or even lunge at him again. Saeyoung feels that he deserves any of these responses. He almost smiles at the thought—for better or worse, they have so much in common.

“Let me help,” says Saeran finally.

“Huh?” Saeyoung is so surprised he nearly falls from his chair. He catches himself, wanting nothing less than to look like a fool in front of his brother.

“I can probably do it faster than you can,” Saeran says, finally crossing the threshold and stepping into Saeyoung’s office. Suddenly, Saeyoung is self-conscious—of the code on the screen, of his stupid, childish decorations, of the general clutter. _Saeran would never just leave piles of crap everywhere like this_ , he finds himself thinking. He almost tries to block the screen with his body, but catches himself.

 _He’s trying_ , Saeyoung reminds himself. _He’s_ really _trying right now. For god’s sake, let him._

“You having to learn this stuff…,” he starts, trying to decide how honest he wants to be. “It makes me…I never wanted—”

“Don’t,” says Saeran firmly, and some of the aggression that Saeyoung has become accustomed to is back in his voice. Saeyoung shuts up.

Wordlessly, Saeran pulls over Saeyoung’s other chair and slips into it. He scans the code on the screen with practiced eyes. Saeyoung is torn between admiration and disgust. He’d only agreed to do this work on the condition that Saeran would never have to stoop to this level. If he’d known what was really happening for all those years…

“Here, this will work better,” Saeran says, and his voice tugs Saeyoung out of his pit of guilt. Saeran slides his chair over and types a few lines and Saeyoung watches, his breath catching in his throat. “What?” demands Saeran, not looking at his brother as he types. _He was right_ , Saeyoung thinks— _his way_ is _faster._

“Sorry,” Saeyoung mutters. _Honesty_. “It makes me feel like crap watching you do this. I’m never going to forgive myself for everything that’s happened to you.”

Saeran types for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he pauses, hands poised over the keyboard. _He types like I do_ , Saeyoung thinks. _Fast, like he’s running for his life—then a complete standstill._

“Look,” Saeran says finally, fixing Saeyoung with his piercing eyes, which Saeyoung continues to find both comforting and frightening. “I haven’t forgiven you, either.”

Saeyoung swallows. He knows this.

“But you weren’t ever going to be able to protect me,” Saeran continues. “That’s not how it works. That’s not the world we were born into. No one was ever going to come save us. We were always going to have to do it ourselves.”

Saeyoung doesn’t know what to say. He’s spent his whole life thinking he was subjecting himself to the loneliest life possible in order to protect his brother from the same fate. He’s always seen himself as the protector, the one who could keep Saeran safe from the harsh realities of the world.

But Saeran is right, of course. There were no saviors, no heroes. Just the two of them.

“Thanks,” says Saeyoung. He knows his brother is trying to let him off the hook, a little bit. He doesn’t deserve it. But it fills him with warmth all the same.

Saeran makes a disgruntled face and turns back to the computer. Saeyoung smiles at the back of his head.

Saeran strikes a few more keys, and the program runs. Saeyoung laughs.

“I’m supposed be the best in the industry, you know,” he says, somewhat weakly.

“I wasn’t in “the industry,” Saeran responds. He doesn’t look at his brother, but Saeyoung _thinks_ he sees a ghost of a smile cross his lips.

Saeyoung’s phone buzzes; reflexively, he checks it. Saeran pointedly doesn’t look.

It’s you, of course.

 _How are you?_ you ask. _How is he?_ Saeyoung’s heart pounds. Oh, how he misses you.

 _I’m good_ , he types back with one hand, not taking his eyes off his brother. _We’re good_.

He means it.


	4. first time in the longest time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You take a few careful steps and then think, oh, screw it, and break into a run. The driver’s-side door opens and you catch a momentary glimpse of his mop of red hair before you catapult yourself into his arms.
> 
> He laughs gleefully, and the familiar sound fills you up like a warm drink. He easily scoops you up and you wrap your legs around his waist and bury your head in his shoulder.
> 
> “Hi,” he murmurs into your hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 and oh, don't we all just want a chance to jump into his arms?
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter rating: T

You can’t sit still. 

The hotel room is excessively large—more of a suite, really, with its own little dining nook nestled against a bay window. It’s objectively larger and nicer than anywhere else you’ve lived recently—or maybe ever. But it’s still very much a hotel.

_When was the last time I stayed somewhere that felt like home?_

You pace the perimeter of the room several times. You sit on the bed, stand again, smooth out the wrinkles in the blanket. You go to the window, open the curtains, look out, close the curtains.

You wonder how much time has passed. You check your phone. _Ugh._ Three minutes.

Perching on the edge of one of the chairs, you stare at nothing, trying not to chew your nails or look at your phone again.

_Any minute now._

The last time you saw him was breathless, desperate, fleeting. He came unexpectedly, early in the morning, and he didn’t tell you what he was planning to do, but of course you knew.

“We might not get to see each other for a while,” he said then.

“It’s okay,” you responded, because what else were you supposed to say? You kissed him hard, and he kissed you back like he was trying to absorb you.

It feels like forever ago.

Thanks to Jumin, you’ve been living in this almost uncomfortably lavish hotel instead of the apartment, which—though now free of bombs—is full of confusing memories.

And the hotel really _is_ nice. The rest of the RFA has been coming to see you. Things are peaceful. But…

But you’ve been going, going, going for so long that the idleness feels unsettling. And you’ve missed him. Oh, how you’ve missed him.

He’s protecting everyone, as always—keeping Saeran safe from the emotional burden of seeing you, keeping you safe from whatever danger Saeran still presents to you. He calls a lot, sometimes in the middle of the night. But you’ve gotten so used to feeling his body curled against yours at night, and the hotel bed feels gigantic. You keep thinking you see his reflection in the windows.

Your phone buzzes in your hand, and you promptly drop it. 

“Here,” his text says, followed by a string of hearts.

You trip over yourself trying to get out of the chair and can’t help but laugh. You can only imagine what you look like, hopping on one foot as you try to get on your other shoe, stuff both arms into your coat, and grab your bag all at the same time.

The trip downstairs in the elevator (packed with people in suits—Jumin _did_ pick this hotel, after all) feels like it takes an eternity. You force yourself to cross the lobby at a measured pace and push open the heavy door to the outside. You scan the street and, amidst all the taxis and black luxury cars, there is his insane souped-up silver Lamborghini.

You take a few careful steps and then think, _oh, screw it,_ and break into a run. The driver’s-side door opens and you catch a momentary glimpse of his mop of red hair before you catapult yourself into his arms.

He laughs gleefully, and the familiar sound fills you up like a warm drink. He easily scoops you up and you wrap your legs around his waist and bury your head in his shoulder.

“Hi,” he murmurs into your hair.

“Mmph,” you say in response, your mouth pressed against his neck. You drink in the scent of honey and salt and that special sweet-spicy aroma that isn’t anything in particular, just _Saeyoung_ scent.

He giggles and, one arm around your waist, nudges your face up with his other hand. He’s got on some unnecessarily fancy sunglasses, which you push up on top of his head before pressing your lips firmly against his.

He kisses you back fervently, wrapping his arms tighter around your waist and pulling you into him; your feet still haven’t touched the ground. You part your lips the tiniest bit and he bites your bottom lip, tugging it with his teeth. Your heart does a somersault.

Finally, you pull away to catch your breath and take him in: his cheeks are pink and he’s got this hazy look in his eyes, like he doesn’t quite know where he is. You know the feeling.

Saeyoung lets you down, giving your thighs a tight squeeze as you slide out of his arms and onto the sidewalk.

“Miss me?” he asks, flashing you a brilliant smile.

You smack his arm. “What do you think?

“I think you missed your God Seven soooo much,” he sings, bending over to kiss the tip of your nose. “What’s a poor girl to do without her Defender of Justice at her beck and call?”

“Slowly disintegrate into a pile of goo,” you say seriously, holding onto his hoodie strings. He nods sagely.

“A common side effect,” he replies, his hands skating over your hips.

“Mmmm.” You close your eyes and lean in for another kiss and he meets you eagerly, pulling you into his chest with both hands on your waist.

It’s easy to get lost in him. Everything about him is intoxicating to you—his scent and his grip on your waist and the concrete evidence that he’s real and he’s here and he’s holding you.

Loud honking breaks the spell, and you reluctantly pull away, panting.

“Awww,” Saeyoung whines, gazing down at you. “I could make out with you in the street all day.”

“We can make out any day, anywhere, babe,” you respond, casting a self-conscious glance around you. There are a _lot_ of people here.

Saeyoung leans down, and you automatically rise to your tiptoes, expecting another kiss. Instead, he nuzzles your ear with his nose. “I’m gonna hold you to that,” he whispers. Then he bites your earlobe.

You squirm, your body responding instantly. Heat pools in your belly, and you relinquish your self-restraint, reaching for him. He grins wickedly and dodges you, skipping around the car to hold open the passenger-side door.

“Patience, my darling,” he sings, and you want to smack him again or possibly tackle him to the ground right there.

Instead, you follow him around and slide into the polished leather seat as gracefully as you can.

“You better drive fast,” you say, and his face breaks into a wide grin.

* * *

Saeyoung drives on the highway one-handed, his other hand resting on your thigh. He plays the radio loud and sings along, and you watch the particular way the afternoon sun hits his jawline.

“It feels kind of nostalgic, being in the car with you,” you say, leaning back into the sun-warmed leather.

“I was thinking that too,” he says, squeezing your leg.

You reach over and brush a stray curl from his forehead.

“I really, really, really missed you,” you say.

He swallows. He keeps his eyes on the road, but you can practically see the thoughts buzzing around in his brain. “I don’t wanna ever be apart again,” he says firmly. “Is that okay?”

 _Easy question_. “Yes.”

He beams. “I mean it.” He wiggles his eyebrows, which makes you laugh.

“Even when I’m going to the bathroom?” you ask.

“Yep, even then,” he says.

“What if I’m doing my taxes?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Clipping my toenails?”

“Clearly a group activity.”

“Um, doing laundry?”

“I’ll be on the other side of the room, but I’ll be watching.”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“I like this idea,” you say. “But Saeyoung, I’m going to have to go back to the hotel at some point, you know.”

He glances at you, and there’s a complicated look in his eyes.

“Why?” he asks.

“Um.” _What?_ “Well, I don’t actually have another place that I’m living, you know. And I can’t exactly just stay at your house forever. Saeran—”

“May not be ready for that yet, I know,” Saeyoung says. His fingers restlessly tap against the steering wheel. “But he’ll get to know you. And I—I mean, eventually, I—” _Tap. Tap. Tap._ “Would you want to—” He cuts himself off, groaning in frustration. “Never mind! I didn’t mean to bring this up while I was driving. Let’s just…can you forget I said anything?”

“You _haven’t_ really said anything yet, babe.” You toy with the cuff of his sweatshirt. You’re fiddlers, both of you. More so when you’re nervous.

“Can we please talk about it later?”

You sigh. “I kind of want to know what you were going to say now.”

 _Tap tap tap._ Saeyoung takes a deep breath, and his grip on your leg tightens. 

“Okay. So, listen. You and Saeran need to get to know each other, and I don’t know how long that will take. But he’s ready to try, and I—I’d really like it if—what I mean is, in a little while…would you want to move in? Uh. With us?”

_Oh my god._

It’s not like his awkward preamble wasn’t a bit of a tip-off. But, given everything, you haven’t even allowed yourself to fantasize about this. You’ve gotten somewhat accustomed to your reality, never quite settling in anywhere.Recently, you’d felt that you’d feel at home anywhere (a car, a cabin, a campsite) as long as you were with him.

You hadn’t thought, yet, about what it would be like to actually _have_ a home with him.

“Um. What do you think?” Saeyoung peers at you out of the corner of his eye.

_Another easy question. Way too easy._

“Of course I wanna live with you, dummy,” you say, grinning.

“Really?! I wouldn’t live with me if I were you!” He talks fast, stumbling over his words. “I live in a super high security bunker. It doesn’t even have windows! I have really weird decorations. I’m messy! I don’t sleep at normal times. I have terrible eating habits! I even—”

You cut him off, reaching over to place a finger on his lips.

“It’s approximately two minutes too late to change my mind,” you say.

“Thank god,” he says, sighing. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d said no.” Then he bites your finger.

You yelp, and he cackles, effortlessly guiding the car off the freeway and onto a tree-lined road.

“It still might be a little while,” he cautions. “Saeran’s doing really well, but still—”

“I know.”

“If it were up to me, you’d move in today.”

You giggle. “Me too.”

Saeyoung’s fingers dance over your thigh. “You really want to—?”

“Saeyoung.” You put on your sternest voice, and he quiets. His lips twitch—he’s trying not to smile. “Please take me home.”


	5. what you are, i am too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey.” Saeran speaks loudly, for once, and you’re startled enough to put the spatula down and turn to face him. There’s an impenetrable look in his intense green eyes. He doesn’t look angry, exactly—but you still find yourself feeling a little nervous. “We can take care of ourselves,” he says stiffly. “You don’t have an obligation to—to look after us.”
> 
> You look him in the eye, and you can tell he’s a little put off by it, but he doesn’t flinch. Even a few weeks ago, he would have looked away or given up and left the room. Now, he waits patiently for your answer, standing in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Saeran-heavy chapter! Honestly, SE Saeran has my whole heart.
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter rating: G

The first time you came to the bunker, you were taken aback by the kitchen. It had ample counter space and a brand new oven—in other words, it looked like it had been designed to be used. But it was evident that no one was using it. The cabinets were almost entirely empty except for chips and some old candy; the fridge had soda and a tupperware full of a mysterious substance that no one had bothered to throw out.

Nowadays, the kitchen looks very different.

You’ve filled the cabinets with dry goods: sauces and spices, seeds and rice and dried vegetables. The fridge is full of produce and meat and _real_ leftovers. It’s not as clean as it used to be—there’s evidence of it having been used: oil spatters on the tile above the stove, dishes piled on the drying rack. It’s a _kitchen_ now.

You hum along to a playlist of popular music as you move about the spacious room, opening a pot lid to peer inside, salting and stirring a pan. There’s smoke and a salty, spicy smell. To you, this is natural, normal, the way a house _should_ be.

To the boys, it’s an adjustment.

“Hey.”

You twirl around a little over-enthusiastically, waving with one pot-holdered hand.

“Morning, Saeran!” 

He’s standing just outside the kitchen, with a coat hanging over his shoulders and a generally windswept appearance. It must be cold out today. 

Saeran raises his eyebrows.

“It’s, like, noon.”

You shrug, grabbing a spatula and checking the eggs.

“I slept in. Want an egg toast?”

Saeran hangs his coat neatly on the hook in the living room and runs a hand through his hair. When it’s messed up like this, it’s evident how much his roots have grown in. You haven’t asked him if he’s letting that happen on purpose.

“I’ll make it,” he says, coming to wash his hands. He slips past you carefully, making an effort not to get too close. This habit of his used to upset you. Now, you understand that his caution about invading your physical space comes from respect more than hatred or fear.

“I’ve already got like eight eggs in the pan,” you respond, laughing. “Just grab some more bread.”

Saeran gets the bread and watches you quietly as you tend to the mixture of eggs and cabbage and onion on the stove.

“Where’s my brother?”

You tilt your head to hiding your smile. It took a long time for Saeran to start referring to Saeyoung by his name. It took longer for him to start calling him his brother.

“In the garage. Some sort of valve…emergency?”

One corner of Saeran’s mouth twitches.

“That sounds like him.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence. Saeran slices the bread and you flip the eggs around in the pan. You know that if Saeran was out of the house before noon he must have been with his therapist, and you’ve come to expect the fits of extreme exhaustion that follow his sessions. You’re surprised he hasn’t retreated to his room. On days he has therapy, sometimes he goes to his room in the afternoon and doesn’t come out until late in the evening.

Maybe he feels less pressure because Saeyoung isn’t around. Maybe he’s just hungry.

You heat butter in another pan and layer in slices of bread and the egg mixture. Wordlessly, Saeran starts cleaning up, putting the cutting board and bowls in the sink.

Recently, Saeran has started coming into the kitchen more often when you’re cooking, and you’ve found that his presence is extremely pleasant. Unlike his brother, he understands recipes, and he’ll cut vegetables into tiny, even pieces without you even having to ask. And he always does the dishes.

“What’s in the pot?” he asks, apropos of nothing.

You spin around again, enjoying the way your apron twirls. You’ve tied it over your pajama pants and a t-shirt of Saeyoung’s. 

“I’m making seollangtang! The bones have to simmer for like a million hours, so.”

Saeran makes a sound that’s almost a laugh, and you carefully turn back to the stove, not sure he’d want you to catch him smiling.

“You don’t have to cook for us all the time,” he says. He seems to notice that his voice came out more harshly than he intended, because he adds, more softly, “You’re not our maid.”

You hesitate, spinning the spatula around in your hand. You want Saeran to understand your feelings, of course: you’re not just his brother’s weird girlfriend, who comes over and cooks and makes a mess and then eventually leaves. But you’re also not sure how deep to go, never wanting to overwhelm him.

“I like cooking,” you say finally. True, but decidedly surface-level.

“We both survived for a long time without anybody making us soup,” Saeran says. He sounds annoyed. 

_Barely survived_ , you think. You carefully flip the toasts in the pan.

You try again, keeping your tone light and playful. “If I don’t make Saeyoung eat real food, he’ll die.”

“Hey.” Saeran speaks loudly, for once, and you’re startled enough to put the spatula down and turn to face him. There’s an impenetrable look in his intense green eyes. He doesn’t look angry, exactly—but you still find yourself feeling a little nervous. “We can take care of ourselves,” he says stiffly. “You don’t have an obligation to—to _look after_ us.”

You nod slowly. You think you get it. From Saeran’s perspective, you’re nobody—just some girl who showed up out of nowhere and helped his brother take over his life. Some girl who might see him as too weak, too damaged, to fend for himself. Some girl who hangs around because she’s charmed by his brother—the strong one, the positive one. Some girl who could disappear at any time.

You look him in the eye, and you can tell he’s a little put off by it, but he doesn’t flinch. Even a few weeks ago, he would have looked away or given up and left the room. Now, he waits patiently for your answer, standing in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t feel any kind of obligation,” you say. You feel your heart pounding, but you take a deep breath and keep your voice level. “I’m not trying to, like…provide for you, or take charge of your lives, or anything. I do love Saeyoung, but even if—if Saeyoung wasn’t here, I still would be.”

“Why?”

Part of you wants to frantically backtrack, make a joke, leave the room. There’s too much at stake. But…

“I want to be your family,” you say.

Saeran freezes, his expression unreadable. You’ve taken him by surprise, you know. So you wait for him, taking slow, steady breaths. You think about the way Saeyoung was when you first met him, alarmed by your affection, desperate to keep up the walls he’d built around his heart. 

Saeran doesn’t call you stupid or storm from the room, but the fear in his eyes is the same. And just like Saeyoung, his thoughts are evident on his face as he scrolls through the possibilities, trying to reconcile this reality with the one he’s built for himself.

Finally, his posture relaxes. Without saying anything to you, he goes to the cabinet, pulling out a stack of plates. As if you hadn’t said anything.

_And maybe that’s enough._

“…though.”

He mumbles something, and you furrow your brow. “Hmm?”

“I’m not gonna call you my sister or anything, though,” he repeats, speaking into the cabinet. You can’t see his face, but the tips of his ears are red. Another familiar tell.

You grin and spin away from him, hiding your face behind your arm, not wanting to give too much away. You turn to the door and, to your surprise, find yourself facing the other Choi brother. Saeyoung is lingering just outside the kitchen, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“Babe!” You skip over and kiss him on the cheek, carefully avoiding the streaks of grease on his hands and arms.

You hear Saeran turning off the stove, but he doesn’t say anything more.

“How long have you been here?” you murmur in Saeyoung’s ear.

He’s still got that stunned look on his face. “A while,” he says. “I was quiet.”

You wiggle your eyebrows at him and give him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“I can see you,” Saeran grumbles. He’s set three plates on the counter and he’s leaning against it, arms crossed again. “Please don’t get all weird now.”

“He’s always weird,” you say, nudging Saeyoung with your hip. “Babe, please wash your hands. And arms. Then you are allowed to have food.”

Saeyoung finally visibly relaxes, laughing and shaking his head. He reaches for a plate and Saeran blocks him with his body.

“You heard her.”

Saeyoung throws up his arms in defeat and goes to the sink, making a show of rolling up his sleeves and dramatically lathering his hands, getting soap everywhere. Saeran meets your gaze for a moment, then looks away.

“Weird family.”

“Yeah,” you say, not bothering to hide your grin. “You’re right.”


	6. over and over, over and over again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please, he thinks, on the eleventh day. Please let me remember her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one hurt my heart to write—but I promise it ends happily.
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter rating: T

You are in bed when it happens.

Saeyoung is looking at you as he often does when you’ve just fallen asleep. He loves the way your eyelids twitch as you start to drift into a dream, and he loves the way you curl yourself into a little ball like a cat as your breathing deepens.

He reaches for you, gently brushing your hair off your forehead. As his fingers touch your skin, which is cool to the touch as always, his world turns sideways.

* * *

Saeyoung is in his office and at first he thinks nothing of it. Drifting off at his desk and coming to, his hand stuck to his cheek, his screen burning a blue rectangle into his mind—this all feels normal to him. He doesn’t even question it.

His phone buzzes in his hand, and he blinks, finding that his vision is swimming with stars. He stretches, holding the phone up close to his face. The messenger is open.

_The messenger…_

Saeyoung remembers a calm face, a smaller body curled up against his.

_A dream?_

He shakes his head, trying to clear it. Everything feels fuzzy.

Everyone is logged into the messenger. Saeyoung doesn’t know what time of day it is. He checks the chat again. Six people logged in. Right.

_Wait. Six…?_

His heart pounds. There’s someone new in the chatroom.

“Wait!!” he types. The light from his phone screen makes his head ache. He turns the brightness down.

Everyone is puzzled. No one has noticed anything out of the ordinary—of course they haven’t. Saeyoung feels (though he doesn’t know exactly why) like he was expecting it.

“Think someone entered the chat room;;” he types. He feels like he’s waking up a little. He goes to his computer, pulls up the program for the app. Does a scan.

“Sevnee do somethign!!” Yoosung types. 

_Seven…?_ He thought Yoosung had finally started using his real name. Or had he? His brain feels muddled. He definitely has memories of the RFA members calling him by his real name. But that’s impossible, of course. He’s never told them.

“Wait a sec. I’m searching,” he types. His head really hurts.

Everyone is discussing the situation. He finds the intruder and pulls up a new screen on his computer.

“Hello…” the intruder types.

Saeyoung finds the information easily. He sees the IP address, the location. He types a few more lines. Clicks. A photo.

_Oh._

Inexplicably, his heart drums an aggressive rhythm against his ribs. That face…

Saeyoung can’t explain it, but he feels like his stomach is flipping over and over again. He presses a hand to his mouth, thinking he might throw up. The picture is still on the screen: sparkling eyes, a familiar smile.

_OH._

The body beside him in bed, the hands curled against his chest. The hair splayed over his pillow. You…

His head is spinning, and he has to close his eyes, dropping his head into his hands.

_What on earth is happening…?_

* * *

The next four days are torture.

Saeyoung’s brain is overwrought. Some moments he’s sure that everything is more or less normal; he does his work, he talks to the RFA; he watches you on the CCTV cameras. Other moments he knows something is wrong, and his fingers hover over your name on his phone, itching to call you, to hear your voice, to scream “Help, I don’t know what’s happening, get me out,” to drive to the apartment and run away with you.

When he’s at his most rational, he fees that he’s being very silly. It’s clear that you’re interested in Zen, and really, who wouldn’t be? Whatever is making his heart soar into his throat whenever he sees your face on the cameras is a crazy, unfounded impulse. Maybe he’s finally losing his mind after all.

When he goes too long without sleeping or eating, his mind feels hazier, and he feels this strong, inexplicable sense that you belong with him and that the universe has turned upside down.

* * *

On the day of the party, Saeyoung is finally certain that something is very wrong. 

He meets you—for the first time? Can it be?—and you hardly glance his way, clutching Zen’s arm as you nervously greet the rest of the members. He drifts closer to you, unable to help himself, and catches a whiff of something he smelled once, in a world where he was happier.

The scent sends him reeling, and he has to excuse himself, taking short, shallow breaths on the balcony outside. He knows for certain in that moment that—and he can’t explain how this is possible—you once looked at _him_ the way you’re looking at Zen, and once, in some other world, you were his whole universe.

He steadies his breathing, wipes his sweaty hands on his thighs. He sees you through the glass, your head on Zen’s shoulder. You look peaceful.

The world tilts again. This time, he’s expecting it.

* * *

Saeyoung is in his office, his legs stiff, his vision hazy.

_Wasn’t I just…?_

His phone is buzzing frantically in his hand, and he checks it automatically. He takes off his glasses and wipes them— _wow_ , they were gross—and squints at the screen.

There’s a hacker in the RFA chatroom…?

Feeling that he’s been here before, Saeyoung clicks on the new user, almost mechanically. Pulls up the location, the photo.

_No way._

The image of you at the party comes first, the beautiful curve of your neck exposed as you smile at the floor. _Beautiful? Since when did I…?_

The other images follow: the chats, the calls. Your voice. Your scent. The fingers clutching at the front of his shirt in bed.

This time, there’s more, too: your laugh as you sit beside him in his car, the wind in your hair. The glint in your eye as you grab him by his hoodie strings, tugging him behind you toward the bedroom. The feeling of your fingers skating over his hips as you…

_What?!_

Saeyoung drops his phone, hearing it buzzing loudly as the RFA demands his attention. _What is going on…?_

* * *

You fall in love with Yoosung, this time. He doesn’t blame you.

Yoosung is bright, like you. He’s kind and his heart is too big for his own good. You make sense together.

This time, Saeyoung gets to see Saeran, too. He knows he should be shocked to see his brother, to meet his green eyes and see what he’s become. Somehow, he isn’t surprised.

Somehow, he already knew.

* * *

When he gets to meet you, this time, he’s prepared for the scent, for the look in your eyes. He has to apologize to you, and he won’t meet your eyes. It’s not worth it. He doesn’t deserve the forgiveness he already knows you will offer him. He doesn’t deserve your respect, your kindness, even your presence.

“I love you,” your voice whispers, in his ear, in his fantasies, in his memory. He scrunches his eyes shut tight.

_Please. I’ll do anything. Please just let me stay with her…_

* * *

Saeyoung is in his office.

He knows what to expect.

This time, he sets aside his buzzing phone, pulling up your photo on his screen right away. He looks at your cheekbones and remembers running a finger over your face, feeling you tremble under his touch. He zooms in on your forehead and pictures pressing a soft kiss to it, feeling your bangs tickle his lips. He sees your pierced earlobe, remembers putting in an earring that he bought for you, clipping on the back, careful not to hurt you.

“Wait,” he types robotically in the messenger. “Think someone entered the chat room.”

Everyone panics. Saeyoung zooms in against and thinks about the way your earlobe casts a little, round shadow on the crook of your neck. He pictures kissing you right where your neck meets your jaw and his body shudders.

* * *

You pretend that you haven’t, but he knows that you’ve fallen in love with Jaehee.

This is probably the best choice you’ve made yet. Jaehee is smart, responsible, and loving. Jaehee will take good care of you. Jaehee will keep you safe.

Saeyoung encourages you, wanting nothing more than to hear the familiar lilt in your voice when you’re happy. He tries to make you laugh, too, because—oh, he’d do anything for your laugh. He’d walk to the ends of the earth for just a giggle.

He’s ready for the reset this time, too, and he spends several days preparing himself. He saves a picture of you and prints it out— _what a creep, what a pathetic, disgusting cockroach_ , he thinks _—_ and leaves it on his desk. 

_Please,_ he thinks, on the eleventh day. _Please let me remember her._

* * *

Saeyoung is in his office, and he looks for the photo right away. He’s proud that his brain is functioning well enough to allow him remember about it. His headache is back, or still there—when was the last time he didn’t have a headache?—but he knows to look for you.

He turns the office upside down. The photo is nowhere to be found.

And this time is the worst one yet. This time he really tries. 

He can’t say to you “I think we were in love, once,” or “Something is wrong,” or “Please run away with me,” but he tries as hard as he can to make you laugh. He flirts with you shamelessly because he can’t hold back anymore. He feels he is practically begging you to come back to him.

You fall in love with Jumin.

* * *

Saeyoung keeps it together for ten days. He focuses on work. He chases the mystery of the hacker (but _is_ it a mystery? He feels like he already knows…) He barely sleeps.

The lack of sleep catches up to him. He calls you.

“Are you okay?” you ask him. He feels like he’s going crazy.

“No…I’m not,” he admits. “You don’t care about me.”

 _Hang up_ , his brain says. _Hang up hang up hang up._

“I’m nothing…” he tells you. “My heart’s crumbled into bread crumbs.” He’s shaking, and there are tears burning the corners of his eyes. “So sad…my poor bread crumbs…I’ll eat you up…Meet your friends inside my stomach.” He forces a laugh and it comes out like a sob. 

You don’t say anything.

He hangs up and curls into his chair, his body shaking.

He can imagine your arms around him so clearly, can smell your hair as you hold him and rub comforting circles on his back. He leans into the fantasy, knowing it’s not real, wanting this universe to end. He’ll do anything just to start over again…

* * *

Saeyoung wakes up in his bed.

“Babe…babe…”

There’s your voice in his head again. He can still feel your arms around him, still smell your shampoo. It feels so real.

 _No. No. Start over._ Start over. _I can’t take this anymore._

“Saeyoung…!”

Your voice gets louder, and there’s a texture to it that his imagination is never able to quite recreate.

And there are fingers on his arms, cool, soft fingers, bracing him. He realizes he’s still shaking.

Saeyoung opens his eyes.

“Babe!” Your face swims into view. Your eyes are wide and red-rimmed, as they often are when you’ve been awoken abruptly from sleep. As his mind wakes up, your grip on his arms becomes more distinct, and he can feel the familiar silky sheets (selected by you, of course) under his body. He’s not curled up in his desk chair, sleeping with his head propped on his arm. He’s in bed—and he’s awake, finally.

He whispers your name. His lips are dry and his voice breaks. He realizes that there are tear tracks on his cheeks.

“Are you awake, baby?” You release one of his arms, running a finger across his cheek. He notices that his hands are balled into fists, and he makes an effort to release them.

“I…I…” Saeyoung’s headache is gone, but his mind is still spinning.

“You were having a nightmare,” you say, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. His hair is sticking up in every direction. He must have been thrashing around in the bed. “You woke me up,” you add. “You were crying in your sleep. I got scared.”

Saeyoung takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes and opens them again and you’re still there. He takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each cool, familiar fingertip. Your nails are painted blue—he remembers you doing that, just the other day. You peer down at him, the worry still evident in your eyes.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, I…I had a really bad dream.”

“Wanna tell me about it?” You sit cross-legged on the bed. Your shoulders relax, and he can see that you’re a little calmer now that he’s all the way awake and lucid. He must have been going really crazy in his sleep to worry you like this.

Saeyoung takes several long, slow breaths. He reaches for the water on the bedside table and takes a sip and it cools his throat. “I don’t…quite know how to describe it,” he admits. He pushes himself up to a sitting position and holds out his arms to you. To his relief, you climb into his lap, and he wraps his arms all the way around you. You are solid and soft and real in his arms. He tucks your hair behind your ear and presses a light kiss to the spot where your neck meets your jaw.

“Well, what was it about?” you ask, your voice sweet and sleepy. You nuzzle into his chest, tucking your head under his chin. You are already almost asleep again—he can tell from your breathing. He brushes your hair with his fingers in long, even strokes.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. He keeps stroking your hair and he hears—no, _feels_ —your heart rate slow. You sink into his chest, and your breath tickles his collarbone. “It wasn’t real,” he says, kissing the top of your head, and above your eyebrow, and both eyelids. “It’s over now. This is real.”

Your shoulders twitch as you cross over from wakefulness into the world of dreams. Saeyoung continues to ghost soft kisses over your face and head, and you sigh contentedly in your sleep.

“This is real,” he whispers. “And I missed you.”


	7. wrapped me up in ribbons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s certainly not the first time you’ve seen this version of Saeyoung—teasing, dominant, sadistic—but the thrill hasn’t worn off. Once you let yourself sink into that sparkly, blurry part of your mind where you’re submissive to him, everything feels new and terrifying and wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW!
> 
> Cw for sex [M/F], consensual dom/sub dynamic, bondage, light BDSM, honorifics, subspace.
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter rating: E

Because you cannot see or move, every sound he makes is amplified tenfold.

His footsteps, normally so quiet, echo in the silence, growing softer as he steps away from you. There’s a vague creaking sound, and then nothing. You don’t know where he’s gone or what he’s doing.

You feel your arms start to shake, the soft jute rope that’s holding them in place above your head not enough to alleviate the pressure of maintaining this position. Pins and needles shoot down your arms, through your chest, and ignite a little flame at your core.

_Where is he…?_

His footsteps grow louder again, and heavier—he’s wearing shoes, amplifying the sound of his footsteps on purpose. Hearing him walking around without knowing when he’s going to touch you is terrifying—and thrilling.

You door clicks shut, and then he stops moving. Your heart pounds against your rib cage—swear you can hear it reverberating in your eardrums. Your knees have started to throb, pressed against the hard floor, and your arms are going numb. The metal of the desk your hands are lashed to is cold, adding another layer to the overload of sensations you’re already feeling.

In the pit of your belly, a white-hot need builds, and you press your thighs tighter together, seeing some sort of relief. Internally, you beg for him to come back, beg to feel his hands on you. You hold your breath.

One heavy step…two…three…and he’s standing over you. You’re sure he can see that you’re trembling.

There’s a sudden, unfamiliar feeling on your cheek, and you jump. It’s course and cold. It’s his finger, but— _is he wearing gloves?_

Saeyoung grasps your chin with his other hand ( _yes, he’s definitely put on gloves_. You wish you could see—you _love_ him in gloves, and he knows this—but your blindfold is tight and thick, and you cannot even see the shadow of his hand in front of your face.)

Roughly, he pulls the gag from the mouth, and you gasp, choking on air.

“Green?” he asks, and his voice comes out deep and cold.

“G-green,” you stammer, your mouth dry. 

“Are you sure?” he hisses, his warm breath on your ear. Your legs start to shake more violently. With one gloved hand, he traces the curve of your jawline. You squirm, willing him to move his hand onto your throat.

“Yes, please!” you say, and your voice comes out more enthusiastic than you’d intended. He laughs—not the usual warm, high-pitched sound, but a low chuckle.

“Are you so desperate for me, kitten?” he says in that same deep voice. You can hardly stand it, and you feel the restraints rubbing against your wrists as your arms tremble.

It’s certainly not the first time you’ve seen this version of Saeyoung—teasing, dominant, _sadistic_ —but the thrill hasn’t worn off. No matter how much is meticulously planned out beforehand—if and how you’ll be restrained, what toys he’ll use on you, how he’ll speak to you—once you let yourself sink into that sparkly, blurry part of your mind where you’re submissive to him, everything feels new and terrifying and wonderful.

His rough, gloved hand moves down your throat, tantalizingly slowly. Then he grips your neck, and you feel the delicious shock of your air flow being cut off.

You can’t suppress a whimper, and he hisses in your ear, sounding almost feral. “Did I say you could make a sound?” 

Your head spins and you sink deeper into the ocean of submission that lives behind a door in the back of your mind. 

“Good kitty,” he purrs. One hand stays on your throat as his other hand ghosts down your chest, over your bellybutton, across your hip. “Do you think you deserve a reward?”

He jerks his hand away from your throat, and you gasp out a plea. You mind is humming and the heat between your legs is becoming almost unbearable.

“Do you want your reward right now?” His hand dips lower and he laughs again as you desperately try to part your legs for him, encumbered by the restraints at your ankles.

You gasp out a string of yeses and he pulls away, just inches from the spot where you need him.

“Saeyoung…!” you cry. Nothing. You wriggle your shoulders and inadvertently tug against the rope binding your wrists. “Saeyoung, please…”

There’s a zip, then silence. Then…buzzing.

“Oh my god…” you whimper, knowing what’s coming. You hear his footsteps again and then, with no warning, he’s pressed the vibrator against your clit, already going at maximum speed. A yell tears from your throat as your senses are totally overwhelmed, sparks bursting behind your eyelids.

“So needy…” he murmurs, and then you feel his teeth on your neck. He bites down hard, and the sensation mingles with the numbness in your arms and the bruising floor on your knees and the explosive stimulation to your clit and you feel yourself coming apart at the seams. You’re drowning in your mind, sinking under the choppy surface of the imagination ocean and it’s warm and all-encompassing and wonderful.

And then it stops.

Saeyoung pulls the toy away and releases your neck all at once. “Did I say you could come?” he barks, and you feel hot, delicious tears in your eyes. 

“N-no…”

“You come when I say, and not before,” he commands, and though he’s clearly trying to control his tone, you hear the thick desire in his voice. He stands and presses against you and you feel his arousal against your chest, through his jeans. He’s in charge—but you know he’s just about to fall apart, too.

Through the haze of pleasure and pain, you can’t resist teasing him just a little bit.

You dip your head and, with your now un-gagged mouth, brazenly lick his cock through his pants. He gasps audibly, and you feel a shudder run through his body.

“That’s it,” he hisses. “You earned this.”

He rips the restraints from your wrists and you almost fall forward, not expecting the sudden loss of support. He catches you against his chest and supports you with one arm as he bends to undo the ties on your ankles. Your body feels totally weak, your muscles like rubber, and you collapse against him, trusting him to keep you from falling. He scoops you up, cradling you in his arms like a baby. You’re still blindfolded, and you feel a little dizzy as he carries you across the room with a few quick strides.

Your face hits a fluffy pillow as you’re thrown across the bed, and you barely have a second to catch your breath before you feel a sharp slap on your ass. You whimper, shaking all over, and he spanks you again.

“Still green?” he says breathily, the unbridled want even clearer in his voice now.

“Yes, p-please, I need…” Even through the blindfold, with your eyes shut, your vision is going white. Your clit is still throbbing from the vibrator and you wriggle your hips, searching for some stimulation.

He spanks you again, his other hand shaking as he grips your hip—tight, bruising. You hear him fall to his knees on the floor behind you, and then a shock shoots through your core as his tongue darts over your clit. You moan loudly as his tongue flits over you again and again, and the points of light in your mind start to close in.

“Saeyoung—please—I need to…can I…?” You gasp, and he increases the tempo, flicking his tongue over you so fast, so soft.

“Now,” he growls, and you fall apart.

The white light in your mind bursts and you’re sinking, sinking, miles under the ocean in your mind, immersed in dark and light. You forget to breathe. Then you emerge from the surface, gasping, the ripples of pleasure running through your body as he holds down your hips with a firm grip.

You whimper, your hips rocking, fighting against his hands. He pulls away and you hear him groaning and the rustling of fabric as he tugs off his jeans. You’re barely able to catch your breath before he grabs your hips again and tugs them up. You know what you look like, ravished, naked, blindfolded, your ass in the air, your whole body begging him to enter you.

“I need you, baby,” you murmur, and he groans again. You feel his body shaking and you know he’s just barely holding it together.

He thrusts into you suddenly, hard, and your body rocks forward, your face getting pushed deeper into the mattress. Then he freezes, and you can picture the look on his face as he struggles internally for control.

Saeyoung collects himself, and then he thrusts into you again, more slowly. He picks up a slow, rocking rhythm, and you push your ass back against him, squeezing around him, giving him a better angle. Your hips are trembling, the waves of your earlier orgasm still making your muscles weak and supple.

He rocks into you and your mind goes black. In your imagination you’re no longer in the ocean but on the beach, laying hot and wet on the sand. The sun beats down and you feel empty and full and hot and cold.

Saeyoung’s hips stutter and his breath is ragged against the back of your neck. With the last ounce of your energy, you squeeze tight around him and he shakes, thrusting into you erratically as incoherent syllables fall from his throat.

He rocks into you once, twice, and stills, gasping into your back.

You murmur his name, and he growls again, this time so much softer and gentler. He slips weakly off of you and maneuvers himself to your side. With gentle hands, he unties your blindfold, then flips you ever-so-carefully onto your back.

“Hi,” you whisper. You’re so happy to finally see his face, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his golden eyes big and dark.

“How do you feel?” he murmurs, stroking the hair off your forehead and peppering soft kisses over your brow bone.

“Weak,” you admit, giggling. “But so so so good.”

“Yeah? It was good?” He grabs a towel from the floor and starts to gently clean between your thighs.

“I really liked the gloves,” you say. “That was a nice touch. When I came, I practically hallucinated.”

Saeyoung’s eyes sparkle. “Really?! What did you see?” He moves to your legs, wiping them with the towel and then gently massaging the sore muscles in your calves.

“I was, like…drowning in the ocean?”

“Is that good?” Saeyoung rubs your ankles. You can see red marks on them from the restraints, and you feel another little tingle run up your spine. You love knowing you’ve been marked by him, and the thrill of the secret, trying to hide the obvious bite marks and rope burn under your clothes.

“I love when you drown me, baby,” you say.

He laughs, shooting you an adoring glance. “I love that. And you,” he says. You reach for him and he slips back up beside you on the bed, nuzzling against your shoulder. “I’ll drown you whenever you want. Just say the word.”


	8. eyes like the rising tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thank you for today,” you say after a moment. Your voice is full of emotion. “It meant a lot to me that everyone was there. And the ring is even more beautiful than I could have imagined.”
> 
> “Sometimes it drives me crazy that I can’t give you a totally normal life,” he says, leaning his head on yours—in awe, as he so often is, that you are still beside him. “I never imagined any of this stuff for myself—buying a ring, proposing, celebrating with friends, getting married. But I know that you did, and it’s important to me that you get to live out every fantasy you’ve ever had.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, I am so sorry there's been such a gap since I posted the last one of these! I've had a lot going on this week and forgot to update (sorry!!)—I'll certainly get the rest of these up in the coming days :)

Saeyoung waits for you in the garden, between the azalea bushes. It’s evening, and the cool spring air is scented with the magnolias that bloom all along the stone path, which meanders from the garage across the lawn and into the heart of the garden.

He sits on the delicate wooden bench that Saeran cleverly installed right under the plum tree. Before, Saeyoung had let the land outside his bunker grow wild, not giving it much thought. He liked living far from the lights of the city like this, but it never occurred to him to spend time in the ample outdoor space surrounding his home. _What would be the point of that?_ he would’ve thought, then.

Now, Saeran has transformed the area surrounding their home into a colorful, perfumed masterpiece. Saeyoung is often surprised by how peaceful he finds it. 

This day was planned intentionally and carefully by Saeyoung, who knew who much it would mean to you to celebrate with the RFA, with your shared family. But now, the house empty at last, he finds himself craving the kind of quiet happiness he only feels when he’s alone with you.

“The azaleas are finally blooming!” You’re coming down the little path toward him, a blanket draped over your shoulders and a cup of tea in each hand. Immediately, he notices the ring glittering on your finger. It fills him up with an indescribable warmth.

“Your ring is sparkly,” he says, because it’s what’s on his mind.

You beam at him, handing him one of the steaming cups. “It’s sooooo sparkly.”

He sets the cup next to him and holds out an arm for you and you sit down and curl into him. Even through the blanket, you’re cold—you’re always cold.

He feels you take a deep breath and he does the same, drinking in the sweet garden scent that reminds him of his brother and the melon scent of your shampoo that always reminds him of the first days you’d spend together in the apartment, so long ago now.

“Thank you for today,” you say after a moment. Your voice is full of emotion. “It meant a lot to me that everyone was there. And the ring is even more beautiful than I could have imagined.”

Saeyoung feels proud. He worked hard on this aspect, finally feeling like he was using his money for something worthwhile. Worthwhile because you wanted it and it would make you happy; worthwhile because of what it represented. Under normal circumstances, he resists hacking your phone or computer, trying to instill some semblance of privacy into your weird life, cohabitating with two hackers. In this case, though, it was easy enough to filter your search history for terms like “engagement ring”—you’d made it easy for him, almost as if you’d known he would look.

“Sometimes it drives me crazy that I can’t give you a totally normal life,” he says, leaning his head on yours—in awe, as he so often is, that you are still beside him. “I never imagined any of this stuff for myself—buying a ring, proposing, celebrating with friends, getting married. But I know that you did, and it’s important to me that you get to live out every fantasy you’ve ever had.”

You don’t say anything at first. You look at the diamond on your finger, glittering even in the dimly-lit garden. You turn it back and forth in the light.

“It’s true that I imagined getting engaged and planning a wedding and all those things before I met you,” you saw slowly. “But you should know that—that even without any of those things, I’d still want to spend the rest of my life with you. That’s the fantasy that matters the most now.”

Saeyoung smiles. He does know this, of course—but given that it goes against everything he was taught for the first twenty-one years of his life, it still takes him by surprise every time you remind him.

“Saeyoung?” you ask quietly. You snuggle deeper into his chest and he presses a soft kiss to the part in your hair.

“Yeah?”

“What does it mean to _you_ , though?”

“Hmm?”

“You said all those beautiful things to me earlier, about loving and me and wanting to spend forever with me, and we’ve talked a lot about getting married and stuff, but…I guess, I’m just now thinking about how different it is for you than for me. So, like…why _do_ you want to marry me?”

Saeyoung laughs. “ _Now_ you ask? You already agreed to it.”

You twist around in his arms so you’re looking at him. Your eyes are big and bright, the fairy lights in the garden reflecting in them like stars.

“Choi Saeyoung, if you’d asked me to get married when we’d known each other for less than two weeks, it’d have done it,” you say. You take his face in both hands and squish his cheeks. “I’d marry you right here, right now, and I’d marry you if you’d proposed with a cat instead of a ring like you threatened to.”

He laughs. He was never really gonna do the cat thing.

“But why do you care about getting married? You know I’m yours,” you continue. You fix him with that firm, confident look he loves, and he cocks his head. He’s spent a whole lot of time thinking about the logistics of actually proposing to you. He honestly hasn’t thought as much about the concept of marriage itself. He’s sure you know this, too—you’re the one who always thinks ahead, and he’s the one who realizes what’s happening after it’s already happened.

“Remember that one time, months ago, that you were making eggs?”

You laugh and roll your eyes. “Sorry, what?”

“You were making eggs!” he repeats. You have to remember this. “And I was hiding in the living room and listening. You told Saeran that you wanted to be our family.”

He sees it in your eyes when you remember. “Yeah,” you say. “Leave it to you to open with what I was cooking."

He grins. “I love when you make the egg toasts.”

You poke him. “What does my amazing cooking have to do with marriage?”

“Lots, actually!” he says, bouncing in his seat. Wait. He’s losing track of things. “No, no. What I mean is, _that’s_ what matters to me. I don’t wanna just be your, like—romantic partner forever! I want to us to be a real _family_.”

“Oh, Saeyoung.” You set down your tea and climb into his lap, wrapping your arms and legs all the way around him like a koala. The blanket falls down over your face and he chuckles, tucking it around your head and smooching the tiny bit of your face that’s still exposed. “I’m already your family,” you mumble into the blanket.

“Yes,” he sings, tucking the blanket the rest of the way over your face so you’re a soft, warm blob in his arms. “But now everyone will know.”

You giggle and squirm but he has a tight hold and you and you only manage to get yourself more hopelessly tangled.

“Hey,” he says, and you pick up on his more serious tone right away and stop squirming. The corner of the blanket falls off your face and you peer at him with wide, clear eyes. “The day before I met you, if somebody had come to me and said, ‘Seven-zero-seven, I’m from the future, and I want to tell you that a year from now, you’ll have a family…” He shakes his head. There’s a dry, burning feeling in the back of his throat, a harbinger of tears. He feels a little pang of guilt—today is a _happy_ day, a day of celebration, and he doesn’t want to bring you down by dwelling on his past.

But you—wonderful you—put both hands firmly on his chest and look him in the eyes. “I know,” you say. “And just to be clear. If I could go back and see that Seven, the one who thought that it was his fate to work himself to death and never get close to anyone and live alone in his weirdly-decorated underground cave forever, I’d give him a kiss and tell him I adore him.”

Saeyoung isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or cry. He does both, a little—he snickers, but he feels a tear sneak out of the corner of his eye.

“He’d _freak_ ,” he says, imagining it. “He’d be like, ‘Who is this impossibly sexy, cool, beautiful girl, why does she think she likes me, and also what is kissing?’”

You laugh and poke the tip of his nose with your tongue. “You knew what kissing _was_!”

“ _Did_ I, though…?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

You scrunch up your face as if you’re trying hard to think back. “Hmmmm,” you muse, a finger on your lips. “Maybe not.”

“Hey!” 

“You were a quick study,” you whisper, and you press your lips against his. You taste like cupcakes and champagne and tea.

“You wanna go have sex in one of the cars?” he asks between kisses.

“Always!” You tighten your arms and legs around him and he stands, lifting you, blanket and all.

For the hundredth time that day, he glances up at the sky and murmurs a word of gratitude into the universe. He didn’t do anything to deserve this—the opposite, in fact—and yet…

“Love you,” you murmur into his chest. He squeezes you tighter.

“Love you too.”


	9. want to be a human again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saeyoung grits his teeth and opens the folder. Realization seems to dawn on him immediately.
> 
> “This is…”
> 
> “Yes.”
> 
> Saeyoung tilts the folder toward you so you can see better, and he rifles quickly through the pages, as if he doesn’t want to look at anything too closely. There are printed-out emails and grainy photos and old news articles; one name stands out amidst it all: Choi Saejoong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last: a Vandy appears!
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter rating: T (cw: vague references to canon death and violence)

There’s a distinct air of death in the apartment.

Maybe it’s in your imagination, because you know that the man who once lived here has died. Maybe it’s in the photographs stacked against the walls—the ones he never sold, the ones no one ever saw while he was alive. There’s a kind of darkness there that surprises you; it’s hard to take your eyes off them.

Or maybe it’s the feelings radiating from the two people beside you—people who knew him far better than you ever did, people who deeply loved him.

“Hyung, why did you want me to come here?” Saeyoung’s voice comes out a little too loud, and a little too harsh, and he clears his throat.

“I found something you need to see,” Jumin says. He sounds uncharacteristically cautious. “It’s up to you if you want to—act on this in any way, but I thought it was only right that you see it, regardless.”

Saeyoung tenses up beside you. It’s not the first time that you’ve been to V’s apartment since his death, but it’s been months since Saeyoung and Jumin finished their cursory sorting of the things that remained here. Since the apartment was left to Rika, who was—for numerous reasons—unable to make a decision about it, no one knew quite what to do about it. It was left more or less untouched—though Jumin, it seems, has been returning periodically to go through the stacks and stacks of documents filed neatly in and around V’s desk.

Saeyoung doesn’t say anything, and you bump gently against his side; he interlaces his fingers with yours. You can feel his trepidation in the stiff way he’s standing and the tight grip he has on your hand.

Without any further preamble, Jumin hands Saeyoung a folder. It’s plain, with “Luciel” written across the front in a delicate scrawl that you can only assume is V’s.

Saeyoung grits his teeth and opens the folder. Realization seems to dawn on him immediately.

“This is…”

“Yes.”

Saeyoung tilts the folder toward you so you can see better, and he rifles quickly through the pages, as if he doesn’t want to look at anything too closely. There are printed-out emails and grainy photos and old news articles; one name stands out amidst it all: Choi Saejoong.

“It seems Jihyun was putting together evidence that would incriminate him,” Jumin says in a quiet voice. There is a surprising and unfamiliar gentleness in the way he’s speaking to Saeyoung. 

Saeyoung shakes his head. You can feel him consciously slowing his breathing, using the techniques he’s been taught to stay calm under pressure. Still, his hand trembles a little in yours. “Why didn’t he—why didn’t he ever…?”

“This is only speculation,” Jumin says, in that same soft tone. “I imagine he was conflicted about taking any action that might go against Rika’s wishes or—”

“—or implicate her in any way,” Saeyoung finishes, his voice rough. He sets the folder aside and runs a hand over his face. Suddenly, he looks exhausted, beaten down—the way you remember him looking so often in the days and weeks following V’s death.

“Yes.” Jumin nods slowly. “This information is meant for you, not for me. But I did look through it to a certain extent and—for what it’s worth, the documents go all the way up to a few weeks before Jihyun died.”

Saeyoung inhales sharply.

“At any rate, I leave it entirely up to you what you wish to you with this information. If you were to choose to hold onto it or throw it away, I would understand.” Jumin hesitates. He looks down, and then he looks up at Saeyoung. You notice a hardened, confident look in Jumin’s eyes, one you’re sure has earned him the respect of important decision-makers around the world. “On the other hand,” he continues, “if you choose to—disclose this information—I, and C&R, would be behind you.”

Saeyoung is looking at Jumin, and Jumin’s gaze doesn’t waver. Their relationship is strange, you think—though you know Saeyoung has a great deal of respect and admiration for Jumin, he’s rarely relied on him, rarely asked anything of him. Saeyoung, you think, still sees Jumin as V’s best friend, above all else—and naturally, that’s complicated.

Slowly, Saeyoung nods. “I have to think about it,” he says, his voice a little raw. “I have to talk to—”

“Of course.” Jumin moves away a little, straightening his coat. He’s back to normal: brisk, formal. But there was genuine care in the way that he spoke to Saeyoung about the documents, and you’re certain that, beneath it all, Jumin has a fierce love for the RFA—for Saeyoung.

“Thank you, Jumin,” you say. He looks at you with surprise.

“Of course,” he says. “This was never my decision to make. And—” He glances at Saeyoung, who is still staring at the folder in his hands. He looks like he’s far away. “No matter what you decide to do, you should know that—” For a moment, uncertainty flashes in Jumin’s dark eyes, and then they are clear again. “Jihyun was always wishing for your freedom,” he finishes.

Saeyoung doesn’t look up, but his grip on the folder tightens. You know that he wouldn’t ever cry in front of Jumin, never in this room, amidst V’s carefully chosen furniture and piled-up old photographs. But he nods.

“Thanks, hyung,” he whispers. You’re not sure if he’s addressing Jumin or the other man, the one whose presence still seems to fill every corner of this apartment. Maybe it’s both.

* * *

The security system activates.

You drop the manual for the expensive espresso machine you’ve finally decided to learn how to use and peer around the corner at the cameras. You catch a glimpse of a familiar disgruntled face before the doors swing open.

“Vanderwood!” You swiftly cross the bunker to meet them at the door. They’re standing at the threshold, an annoyed expression on their face, an Arabic dictionary in one hand.

“You haven’t gotten tired of him yet, huh?” Vanderwood asks by way of greeting. You beam at them.

“Neither have you,” you reply. Vanderwood grunts and kicks off their shoes. You notice they take a moment to line up not only their own but all the shoes that are lying in a jumbled mess by the door.

“Madam!!!” Saeyoung comes barreling around the corner, tries to skid to a stop, catches himself on the coat rack, and somehow manages to stay upright as coats and scarves cascade to the floor around him.

Vanderwood groans. “I can still leave. It’s not too late for me to just go,” they say, shooting Saeyoung what can only be called a death glare.

“Saeyoung!” You pick up one of the coats and he shoots you a grateful look. Then you smack him with it. “Don’t act like an ass just because Vanderwood is here.”

Saeyoung collapses dramatically into his pile of coats.

There’s a quiet chuckle behind you, and Saeran crosses the entryway, peering at the scene with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

“Hey, little Choi,” says Vanderwood, stepping over the pile of coats-and-Saeyoung to shake Saeran’s hand.

“Hey, weird agent guy,” says Saeran.

“Don’t ignore me!” cries Saeyoung. You throw a scarf at him.

Vanderwood follows Saeran into the living room; they are chatting quietly together. You hear Vanderwood’s barking laugh, and you smile to yourself. It’s been a while since you’ve seen them, but they haven’t changed. They can complain about Saeyoung all they want, but you’ve learned to see right through it: when Saeyoung calls, they show up.

You bend over to peer at your fiancé, who has thrown a coat over his eyes and is loudly pretending to sob. You kiss him on the cheek.

“I love you but if you act like a lunatic I’ll let him tase you.”

Saeyoung runs a hand through his already-messy curls. “I’ll be good,” he says, puckering his lips for a kiss. You roll your eyes and offer him a hand instead; he scrambles to his feet and then darts forward to kiss your eyebrow.

“Do your best,” you say, pulling him by the hand. He follows obediently.

In the living room, Vanderwood and Saeran are already peering at something on Saeran’s laptop. Vanderwood has somehow produced three other computers, which are all open and humming, running some mysterious program or other. Over a year ago, this would’ve been a strange sight to you; nowadays, you are unfazed

Vanderwood glances up at Saeyoung, who is trailing behind you like an acquiescent child.

“Glad to see you’ve still got him under control,” they say. You give them a salute.

“Just doing my job,” you reply. “Sit,” you say to Saeyoung, and he obligingly takes a seat on the couch. Vanderwood barks with laughter again.

“Wish I’d had you around years ago,” they say, shaking their head.

“Me too!” Saeyoung sings, pulling you into his lap and nuzzling his head against your neck. 

“I take it back,” Vanderwood groans.

“I swear he’s a little more normal when you’re not here,” Saeran says, his attention on one of the laptops.

“It’s true! I just get extra excited when my favorite maid is here!” Saeyoung bounces, making the couch shake.

“Why me?” Vanderwood mutters, just loud enough for Saeyoung to hear.

You scramble out of Saeyoung’s lap. “Saeyoung, act regular. Vanderwood, do you want coffee?”

“Please.”

You ruffle Saeyoung’s hair (it’s really all over the place today) and make your way to the kitchen. Leaving the three of them to stare at the laptops (now there are, inexplicably, eight), you return to your espresso machine manual.

* * *

When you return to the living room, the three of them are talking in hushed, serious tones.

“Wow,” Vanderwood says as you hand them the latte you’ve (finally) figured out how to make. “Seven-Zero-Seven has an espresso machine now?”

Saeyoung shrugs. He’s more subdued now, his eyes on one of the computer screens.

“She wanted it, so I got it,” he says offhandedly. 

“Seriously, spending time here is almost bearable now.” Vanderwood gratefully accepts the drink from you and you slip back onto the couch beside Saeyoung, peering at his screen. You know what they’re doing, in theory, though the numbers on the computer mean nothing to you.

“This feels too easy,” Saeran says. He’s hunched over another computer, sitting cross-legged on the floor. The now-familiar files from V’s apartment are strewn around him on the ground.

“It _is_ easy,” Vanderwood replies. “Taking down bigwig types? This is—was—literally our job.”

Saeyoung vaguely nods. He’s fiddling with the frayed hem of his sweatshirt. “Actually putting it all out there is no problem. If he had any leverage against us, that’d be one thing. But now, with no agency, no Mint Eye…” Saeran flinches. “…he’s got nothing on us. Actually doing the job isn’t the part I’m worried about.”

Vanderwood leans back on the couch, stretching. “If you’re so worried about the whole world knowing about all this, why’re we doing it?” they ask. “Seems like he’s basically given up tracking the two of you down. You could’ve waited it out. You’re safe in this crazy bunker-house.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. The twins look at each other. Saeran looks down.

“I spent a long time under the ‘protection’ of people who said I’d be safe. It didn’t end great,” he spits out bitterly. Saeyoung twitches, as if he almost went to his brother’s side but thought better of it. You nudge him with your shoulder and he leans into you just a little, sighing.

“I do have mixed feelings about this all being in the open,” Saeyoung says. “He deserves whatever he gets, but—”

“—we’re doing exactly what he always said we would do,” Saeran finishes. “I hate that.” His red hair, softer and thinner than Saeyoung’s, hangs over his face, casting his eyes into shadow.

“Listen, we destroyed lives of people who deserved it a whole lot less,” Vanderwood cuts in, looking back and forth between the twins. “This guy is—from what I read, he’s a real monster.”

“I don’t even care about that part anymore,” Saeran mutters. For once, he’s just wearing a t-shirt, and the bottom-half of his tattoo is visible, peeking out from under his sleeve.

“Yeah,” Saeyoung adds, his attention on his twin. “It’s not a vengeance thing. And I mean—you’re right. We could live underground like this forever, and probably be safe from him as long as we don’t try to go out in the world or use our real names or anything.”

Saeran nods slowly. You notice that your shoulders have tensed up, and you try to focus on releasing them. If it were up to you, you’d have made chasing down and punishing the twins’ dad first priority. But—as Jumin said—it’s _not_ up to you.

Saeyoung peeks at you out of the corner of his eye and you know he’s reading your thoughts on your face. He turns back to Vanderwood.

“I still want to do it, though,” he says firmly. “Because…I want to move someplace where we can have windows. And an even bigger garden. I want my fiancé to be able to have friends over without them almost getting bombed by my stupid security system. I want to use my real name when I get married. I want…” He clears his throat a little awkwardly. Vanderwood watches him intensely, unblinking. “I want to live like a human being,” he finishes.

No one says anything. Saeran is still looking down at the carpet. Vanderwood taps a finger thoughtfully on the table. If anybody understands what Saeyoung means, you think, it’s Vanderwood. 

_Agents can’t have families_ , they told you once, when the four of you—the same four of you that are sitting around in your warm and well-lit living room right now, you realize with a jolt—were holed up in the middle of nowhere, hurt, misled, in the midst of a war. _Agents don’t get names, or friends, or things they like and dislike. That’s just not part of it._

One of the laptops beeps, breaking the silence. “It’s ready,” Vanderwood says softly. “Just say the word and it’s done.”

You look at Saeyoung, who looks at Saeran. Saeran stares at the floor for a long moment; finally, he looks back at his brother, and his mint eyes are clear and sure.

“Do it,” he says.

Saeyoung grabs your hand and squeezes it and, without hesitation, Vanderwood hits a key. The computer hums.

“There’s no guarantee—“ they say, as if the twins don’t already know.

“Whatever happens, we can handle it,” Saeyoung says decisively. He stands and stretches, and then he puts a hand on Vanderwood’s shoulder; Vanderwood flinches as if expecting an electric shock. “Don’t freak,” Saeyoung says, with a lopsided smile. “I just—um. Thanks.”

Vanderwood doesn’t meet his eyes, but you swear you see the corners of their mouth twitch upward.

“Nah, you were right,” Vanderwood says. “It’s time we all started living like human beings.”


	10. broken down the middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone in his huge living room with only the footage of his father’s trial to keep him company, Saeyoung finds himself frozen on the couch, the robot vacuum cleaner he’d been re-wiring forgotten beside him. His vision is hazy—he’s not sure how long he’s been staring at the TV screen without really seeing it.
> 
> And his face is numb. This surprises and frightens him a little. He twitches his nose, wiggles his eyebrows—they’re there, but it feels like his nerve endings have been cut off. It reminds him of the times the agency gave him high doses of narcotics when he was injured so he could keep working without having to take a break. Then, he’d felt like his head was floating a foot above his throat. This time the numbness seeps down into his neck like frigid fingers tracing his veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, chapter 10, in which I give my own mental health problems to the boy!
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter rating: T
> 
> Cw: Detailed description of a panic attack in this fic. These manifest in lots of different ways for different people! I personally get panic attacks in a very particular way, and so I gave my panic attacks to Saeyoung (sry bb).

Saeyoung’s face goes numb.

The news has been on all day, a constant drone from the speakers under the big TV in the living room. The face of the man he’s spent most of his life trying to avoid is plastered all over all his screens. Even in the RFA messenger, the discussion is centered around his father’s trial. His friends’ tone is victorious.

In the bunker, the energy is very different.

Saeran has gone for another walk; over the past few days, his walks have gotten longer and longer. Saeyoung envies his brother’s ability to escape the oppressive air in the house, the unending loop of trial footage and condemnation and speculation.

Personally, he can’t can’t bring himself to turn off the news, and he hasn’t left the house in three days.

He’s keeping it together, more or less. You’re as bright as ever, finding things around the house for him to fix, trying to keep his hands and mind busy. He knows it’s been hard on you, too—knows that the role of caretaker is taking a toll. He’s been thinking of ways he can make it up to you, when it’s all over.

Now, you’ve gone to shower (only after repeated assurances from him that he _will_ be fine being left alone for half an hour or so). He hates himself for relying on you so heavily; he’s weak, he thinks—Saeran has figured out how to cope. Why can’t he?

Alone in his huge living room with only the footage of his father’s trial to keep him company, Saeyoung finds himself frozen on the couch, the robot vacuum cleaner he’d been re-wiring forgotten beside him. His vision is hazy—he’s not sure how long he’s been staring at the TV screen without really seeing it.

And his face is numb. This surprises and frightens him a little. He twitches his nose, wiggles his eyebrows—they’re _there_ , but it feels like his nerve endings have been cut off. It reminds him of the times the agency gave him high doses of narcotics when he was injured so he could keep working without having to take a break. Then, he’d felt like his head was floating a foot above his throat. This time the numbness seeps down into his neck like frigid fingers tracing his veins.

There’s definitely something wrong with his vision, too. It’s a little like his head’s been wrapped in saran wrap—the rest of the room looks far away. _This_ is a familiar sensation, too: he’s had his airflow cut off or severely limited before, and he knows what happens just before losing consciousness.

But he doesn’t _feel_ like he’s going to pass out. He’s been breathing, he thinks—he _has_! He wiggles his fingers and toes—which, thankfully, still feel warm and alive—and tries to take a deep breath. The strangest part of all this, he thinks, is that he was actually feeling okay, just a moment ago. The sense of overwhelming doom that’s been enveloping him after since the start of the trial has faded into the distance, along with his ability to feel his ears.

 _Okay._ He knows how to do this. He knows what a near-death situation feels like, and it feels like this. And he knows how to cope with that. He tries stretching out his arms, and is unpleasantly surprised to find that the numbness is spreading over his shoulders. He tries again to take a deep breath, but it gets cut off in his throat.

Somewhere very far away, through the persistent buzzing in his ears, he hears his father’s voice booming out of the TV again. _Turn down the volume_ , he thinks frantically. _If it gets any louder it’ll kill me._

He reaches for the remote but finds he can’t remember how to turn the volume down. The buttons are blurring together, a confusing blob of colors and shapes that he can’t figure out.

 _Huh_ , he thinks, somewhat calmly. _Maybe this has nothing to do with the trial. Maybe I’m just having a heart attack._

Pins and needles shoot up and down his arms, which seem to confirm his theory. He can hear his heart now, and he’s surprised by how fast it’s pounding—he’d had no idea. He tries to swallow and finds he can’t can’t; his head is spinning and he lowers it clumsily into his hands, which is when he discovers that he’s crying.

 _What?_ He still feels nothing—no grief, no anxiety. Just the vague certainty that he’s dying. He doesn’t understand why is face is wet, as if tears have been pouring out of his eyes for some time. _For how long…?_

His head continues to spin, and he finds he can’t sit upright anymore. He curls himself into the couch, feeling nauseous—he wonders if he’s been poisoned. He knows it doesn’t make sense, knows he hasn’t seen anyone but you and his brother for days, but… _but…_

The cold fingers reach his chest, and he thinks, _no, not poison_ , but it’s as if he’s been possessed, like his soul is trying to claw its way out of his body. He wraps his arms around himself and scrunches his eyes shut against the bursting, popping lights filling his vision. He waits.

* * *

You find him like that: curled into the fetal position on the couch, his arms wrapped around his middle, his eyes shut, tears pouring down his cheeks.

_Oh no._

“Babe… Hey. Hey. Can you hear me?”

Wrapped in a bathrobe, your hair dripping onto your shoulders, you kneel beside him. You’ve seen Saeyoung at his most scared and his most desperate. You’ve soothed him when he’s woken up screaming, when he’s forgotten where he is, overwhelmed by flashbacks of his past. This is a new one, though; luckily, this time it’s something you understand.

“Saeyoung…honey. Can you hear my voice?”

Careful not to touch him, you crouch by his side, talking softly into his ear. What you’re saying doesn’t matter—you just need him to focus on something that’s not inside his own head.

“Ya…I hear—but…I feel really sick, I…” His voice is slurred, but trying to talk is good. You have to breathe when you’re talking.

“Baby, can you do something for me? Can you lift up your arm?”

He shakes his head. He’s hugging himself so tightly you couldn’t unwrap his arms if you tried.

“Please, babe. Just give me one arm. Trust me.”

He shakes his head again, but at the same time he lifts up one arm for you. Immediately, you see his face relax a little, some of his tense muscles triggered to release by the oxygen that’s forced into his body as he moves.

Gently, you take his arm, and stretch it up, then out. He doesn’t resist, so you try shaking it a bit. You hear him take a breath.

“Honey, I know you feel like you have to lie down, but I need you to try sitting up,” you say softly, slipping a hand under his head. His face is wet with tears and sweat, and his hair sticks to his forehead.

“Can’t,” he mumbles in that same slurred voice.

“If it makes you feel worse you can lay back down right away, I promise,” you coax. You scoop his head up with your arm and he tries to help you, using his other arm to prop himself up. “Good job, baby,” you murmur, guiding him into a sitting position. He opens his eyes a tiny bit, wincing at the light, and you see that his pupils are huge in his pale face. You take his other hand. “We’re just gonna move your arms around, okay?” You pull his arms toward you, away from his body. Then you shake them. He mutters something incoherent, but you see a little color returning to his cheeks. “How does that feel?” you ask him, now stretching out his hands, rotating his wrists.

“Funny,” he says, his voice a little clearer. “My body feels like rubber.”

“I know, babe. Hey, look at me?” You place your hands on his shoulders and rub them, and he blinks as if he’s trying to get you into focus. “Can you feel your arms?” you ask. He wriggles them on his own this time and you feel him take another breath.

“Kind of,” he says. He blinks frantically and his eyes focus on you. “Were numb, but…”

“Yeah. Can you try to take another breath for me?” He takes a slow, stuttering breath. It catches in his throat, and he coughs. “You had a panic attack,” you tell him softly. “The more you breathe, the better you’ll start to feel.”

“Never had a panic attack before,” he mutters, trying another shaky breath. “Thought I got poisoned.”

You almost laugh, shaking your head. “Leave it to you to have more experience with getting poisoned than dealing with your anxiety. Can you take another breath for me?”

You count for him, making him inhale for four counts and exhale for eight. A few more tears leak out of the corner of his eye.

“Take three more breaths like that for me, baby. I’m going to get you something. I’ll be back before you’re done.”

You rest his hands in his lap and dart into the kitchen. You hear him taking two unsteady breaths before you return. This time, you sit beside him on the couch.

“I’m gonna put an ice cube against your cheek,” you tell him. “It’s going to feel cold, but it will help you.” You twist the ice cube tray with both hands and catch a cube in a dish towel. Gently, you press it against his cheek, and a shiver runs through his body. _Good_. As you move it over his face, you feel his neck muscles relax, just a little bit. He closes his eyes again. “Babe, can you try to stand up?” you ask.

“My legs are still kinda numb,” he admits. He sounds a bit more like himself. “I’ll try, though.”

He stands, a little wobbly on his feet, and you rise with him.

“We’re gonna do some jumping jacks—no, seriously, trust me. We’ll do it together. We can just do five.”

You start jumping and, though he looks skeptical, he follows suit. After five, you have him do ten more. Then another ten.

He looks at you with clearer eyes. You can hear that his breath has deepened.

“Wow, that— _really_ helped,” he says.

“Is your face still numb?” you ask him. He shakes his head.

“I still feel a little nauseous and dizzy. But I can feel my nose again.”

You smile. “Good. Let’s get you some water.”

You go to the kitchen again and you hear him moving around, jogging back and forth. He takes the cup you offer him with sure hands, and he sips it carefully.

“Babe? Do you think we could turn the TV off for a little while? Or at least mute it?” you suggest.

“Let’s mute it,” he says. “At least for now.”

Relieved, you take the remote and mute the TV. The sound that’s been pervading the house for the past three days is finally cut off. You take a deep breath, and Saeyoung does, too.

He sits on the floor, facing away from the TV, and you sit in front of him, taking his hands.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Apparently I can’t be left alone even for a few minutes.”

You rub his hands, pleased o feel that they are starting to warm up. His blood is flowing again. “You are a very strong and self-sufficient person, Saeyoung,” you tell him firmly. “It’s normal to have anxiety when your father is on trial—even when is is…who he is. _Because_ of all of that. It is normal to need help in this situation.”

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t even feeling bad when it happened,” he says. “I was feeling _better_ and then suddenly—like, my heart stopped working?”

“That’s normal, too,” you say, wiggling his arms again. He relaxes them, letting you.“You’ve been through this with me before. You know it doesn’t always happen when it makes the most sense.”

He takes another long, slow breath. “I thought I was ready to deal with whatever happened,” he says slowly. “Everything’s playing out exactly how I wanted it to, but…I guess I wasn’t as ready to deal with it as I thought.”

You move closer to him and he leans into you, so you wrap up in your arms, cradling his head against your chest.

“Handling it doesn’t have to look like celebrating. Or feeling calm. Or knowing what you’re supposed to feel or think or do. You _are_ handling it.”

“Uggghhhh.” Saeyoung groans and squeezes you tight. “What would I do without you?”

You run a hand up and down his back, along his spine. “You are much stronger than you give yourself credit for,” you tell him. “You would be fine.

He nuzzles his face against your shoulder. “Maybe so,” he says. “But I’m lucky I never have to find out.”

Over his head, on the TV, you see the trial dragging on. The end is inevitable, you think: whether it’s later tonight, or tomorrow, or next week, Saeyoung’s father is going to lose. The twins are going to be safe. They are going to be free.

But right now, that all feels so far away; right now, the figure who has loomed in Saeyoung’s nightmares ever since he learned to recognize him is everywhere, and Saeyoung feels happy and scared and guilty and relieved all at once.

You brush his sweaty hair off his forehead. In the distance, the security system chimes; Saeran is home.

“It’s going to be okay,” you whisper into Saeyoung’s hair, meaning nothing, meaning everything.

“I know,” he says.


	11. your fingertips are falling far from where I know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saeyoung talks energetically, gesturing with his free hand—he looks totally engaged in the conversation. As he talks, though, his hand drifts up your leg, edging dangerously close to the hem of your short skirt. You feel your cheeks heating up and you take a sip of water. No way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, more smut! This is one of my favorites, hehe~
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter rating: M

Things Choi Saeyoung has never done:

  * Open a bank account
  * Take a trip for fun ( _not_ a mission)
  * Book a hotel room under his own name
  * Adopt a cat
  * Make his own social media ( _not_ a Zen fan bot)
  * Go to an amusement park
  * Go to the beach
  * Get a haircut from a professional ( _not_ Vanderwood)
  * Get a credit card
  * Get a regular phone with a regular number people can call
  * Make a restaurant reservation under his own name



With a dramatic flourish, Saeyoung crosses off the last item on the list. He’s already crossed off “go to the beach” (you did that last week) and “get a regular phone” (you’d taken both twins to do that earlier in the month, both amused and saddened by how fascinated they were by the process of setting up a regular phone by legal means).

“I’m practically average at this point!” he chirps, folding the list back up and tucking it in the glove compartment.

“I see you’re parked! Would you like to activate the automatic self-destruction mechanism?” says the car.

You cackle as Saeyoung frantically reassures his car that no, he doesn’t want it to blow up.

“Yep, just about as average as you can be,” you say, bent over double with laughter.

Saeran, from the back seat, pats the car’s leather interior curiously. “Do _all_ the cars have a self-destruct mechanism?” he asks.

“Don’t even think about it!” Saeyoung turns to glare at his brother. The effect of the glare is somewhat ruined by the way he’s bouncing in his seat—he’s in a great mood. “No blowing up my babies!”

Saeran shrugs. “It could be good to test it out. For science.”

“Come on, you two.” Confident that the car is no longer planning to kill you all, you unlock the door and slip out. Saeyoung has gotten a great spot (somehow, he always does) right in front of the restaurant. It’s glamorous, with a tall staircase lined with amber-colored lanterns.

The twins follow you out of the car and up the steps; Saeyoung takes your hand.

In the entryway, everyone else is already gathered. Yoosung is chatting animatedly to Zen and Jaehee, and Jumin is standing with his arms crossed, looking annoyed.

“If you were going to insist on being the one to make the reservation, you could have at least been on time,” Jumin says by way of a greeting.

Saeyoung ignores him and walks (practically _skips_ ) to the hostess, giving her his name in a loud voice. You beam and squeeze his hand. It’s a small thing, but it’s on the list for a reason. There were so many times over the course of Saeyoung’s life, you knew, when he’d thought, _I guess that’s just another thing I’ll never be able to do._ You want him to do all those things.

The hostess leads your group into the main dining room. The restaurant is beautiful, with mahogany furniture and booths sectioned off with royal blue curtains in each corner. You follow her to one of these booths and she draws back the curtain for you.

“How on earth did Saeyoung get a reservation at this place?” Yoosung asks you, sliding in first. “I saw on Outstagram that they’ve got like a three-month waitlist.”

Saeyoung hears and throws him a huge wink. “I may be a totally regular guy now, but I can still be very persuasive.”

Yoosung raises his eyebrows. 

“He hacked the reservation system?”

You make your eyes as wide and innocent as you can. “Don’t ask me!”

It’s wonderful to be all together again. You’ve seen everyone plenty of times since your engagement party, of course, but always one-on-one or in smaller groups. It’s rare to be able to gather everybody like this; it’s rarer still to be together _and_ in public.

But being in public is one of the things Saeyoung is most excited about, nowadays.

The waiter brings the drinks and you listen to your friends chatting. The energy of the group is so bright and familiar. You are sitting on one edge of the booth, beside Saeyoung. Zen is telling a story about his rehearsal; Saeyoung leans forward, appearing to listen intently—as he does so, his hand drifts to your thigh.

You turn to smile at him but he seems not to notice, his attention apparently totally fixed on Zen’s story. _Interesting…_

“Zen hyung is getting really popular!” says Yoosung, and Jaehee nods enthusiastically.

“Engagement on Tripter is up 40% since last month,” she says. “Thanks in part to Saeyoung, of course—” She nods at him. “—but mostly because of the promotional photoshoot for this play! Those pictures went viral very quickly.”

“I’m thinking of making more Tripter bots,” Saeyoung says thoughtfully, cocking his head to the side. “People have been reposting the images, cropped and zoomed in on different features. It could be good to have a bot to repost each body part! You know, a Zen’s hands bot, a Zen’s chest bot, a Zen’s ears bot…”

Saeyoung talks energetically, gesturing with his free hand—he looks totally engaged in the conversation. As he talks, though, his hand drifts up your leg, edging dangerously close to the hem of your short skirt. You feel your cheeks heating up and you take a sip of water. _No way._

Zen is chuckling, seemingly torn between being embarrassed and flattered. Jaehee looks thrilled. “I think that’s an excellent idea!” she says. 

Jumin looks puzzled. “I don’t understand why you would want to share the images _more times_ ,” he says. “Tripter doesn’t pay you for your pictures being shared, correct?”

Saeyoung launches into a long description of social media monetization and the various kinds of sponsorship Zen could accept depending on how large his following becomes. Everyone’s eyes are on his face, and only you notice his hand finally slipping under the edge of your skirt and drifting further up your thigh. His touch is gentle, teasing. You’re finding it hard to catch your breath.

“What are you doing?” asks Yoosung suddenly, and you’re jolted back into the conversation. This time you _know_ your face is red, and you look shiftily to the side. Saeyoung doesn’t miss a beat, though; his posture and voice are perfectly calm.

“Me?” he says innocently.

“Yeah! What are you doing with yourself now besides making Tripter bots?”

 _Oh_. Right. What is he doing with his _life_. Not what is he doing right now…with…his hand…

You duck to hide your blush. Saeyoung starts to tell Yoosung about his idea to sell the robots he’s been building. Saeran, who hasn’t spoken in a while, chimes in; he’s been helping Saeyoung develop a consistent programming language for the toys.

Meanwhile, Saeyoung’s fingers slide around your leg to the inside of your thigh. Painfully slowly, he inches them up, up, up, till they are tickling the lacey edge of your underwear.

“I thought the toys you made were dangerous,” Jaehee is saying. “You can’t sell fire-breathing robots!”

“They _were_ dangerous,” Saeran says quietly. “The ones he’s making now are surprisingly normal.”

Saeyoung pulls his fingers away and you exhale loudly, not sure if you’re relieved or disappointed. The sound doesn’t go unnoticed, and Jumin looks at you a little curiously.

“You don’t approve?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

 _Um._ “What?” Your voice sounds breathy to you. You try to swallow.

“Of the toys. You think they are still too dangerous?”

 _Right_. They’re still talking about the robots. “Ummm, they might be a little dangerous? But in a good way?” _What_ _are you even saying?_

As you’re speaking, Saeyoung slides his hand between your thighs again. This time, his fingers ghost over your underwear, and your whole body shudders.

“I’ve seen them and I actually think they’re really cool!” Yoosung chimes in, thankfully taking the attention off of you again. Saeyoung adjusts in his seat, turning to look at Yoosung—in the process, he changes the angle of his wrist. He slides one finger slowly over your underwear, pausing when he feels the wet spot that’s already formed there.

In your peripheral vision, you see his eyebrows raise, and for a second, a dark, hungry look flickers across his eyes. It’s gone in an instant.

He flicks his finger against you again, this time with a little more pressure. You’re just barely able to repress a moan as you feel the sensation with your whole body, the situation you’re in only heightening all of your senses. Your hands start to shake, and you clasp them tightly in front of you.

“Once you have a proper prototype, I’d be interested in taking a look,” you hear Jumin say, and then you stop trying to keep track of the conversation.

Saeyoung draws little circles against your increasingly wet underwear. You see stars bursting at the edges of your vision and you wriggle in your seat, your hips trying to buck up against him, your whole body craving more stimulation. Your shoulders tremble with the effort to keep it together.

Saeyoung, on the other hand, looks maddeningly relaxed. He leans his head on his hand, his arm propped up on the table. He looks for all the world as though he’s drinking in every word of the conversation.

He adjusts slightly in his seat again, and the pressure stops. You let out another shaky exhale, immediately feeling desperate, needy for his touch. And then he’s back, boldly slipping his hand up and under the top band of your underwear. When his finger returns to your swollen clit, it’s without the fabric in the way. You repress another moan.

“…okay?”

Somebody is talking to you.

“U-um, sorry?” You gasp out. _Oh my god. Get yourself together._

Zen is peering at you with some concern from across the table. “Are you okay?” he says again. “You just look a little flushed, is all.”

“…Ahaha, right.” You giggle nervously. You want to nudge Saeyoung in the ribs, tell him to just _stop_ for a minute, but you can’t, and he doesn’t. The pressure building within you is ridiculous. Your legs are shaking under the table and your vision is a little blurry. Carefully, you reach for your glass again, making an effort to still your fingers. “It’s just a little hot in here, I guess! I’m fine!” Your voice is too loud, you know, but you manage to take another sip from your glass. Zen seems convinced, but you notice Saeran shooting you a suspicious look.

_Oh no._

“Hyung, tell Jumin about the watering mechanism you set up for the garden,” Saeyoung says in his sweetest, most convincing voice. Saeran raises his eyebrows at you, but then he turns back to Jumin.

Saeyoung flutters his finger over you once, twice, and then, abruptly, curls it inside of you.

_Gahhhh._

It takes all the control you have to not noticeably jerk your head forward. You try and take deep, steadying breaths. The conversation fades away again as Saeyoung fucks you with his finger, slipping it slowly in and out, in and out. With his thumb, he continues rubbing circles on your clit. _Fuck_. Your vision is going white.

“…on a timer…even takes into account the…and the seasons…” Saeyoung’s voice drifts in and out of your consciousness as his finger slips deeper inside you, making you feel like you are slowly disintegrating, the world narrowing down to the single point of pleasure at your core. You are going to lose it.

“…fascinating invention…”

You feel a familiar sensation, like you’re about to go over the drop on a roller coaster. Your hips are shaking uncontrollably. _No. Not here. Not now…_

He draws his finger out for a moment and you stand, so abruptly it makes the table shake.

Suddenly all eyes are on you.

“U-uh…sorry, I’m just gonna go to the bathroom really quick…” you mutter, knowing what you must look like: eyes wild, cheeks pink.

You slip out of the booth, not looking back. You stagger to the bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief as you round the corner.

With shaking hands, you grab your phone, pull up Saeyoung’s number. Type a message.

“Bathroom. Now.”


	12. you are mine to keep warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are we doing this?” you ask. He rolls down the windows a little and you perk up; he knows you love the feeling of cool night air on your face.
> 
> Saeyoung isn’t sure how to explain this part. 
> 
> “You seemed down this morning,” he says finally. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me why. I just thought maybe I could help.”
> 
> You exhale loudly. “You noticed that?”
> 
> “Of course.” He notices everything about you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go~ <3
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter rating: T

There’s something wrong with you.

Saeyoung notices it right away when he wakes up in the morning (afternoon, really). You’ve already gotten out of bed, which makes sense—he was awake till very late working on a new robot design and you were asleep by the time he came to bed. When he comes into the living room, you’re dressed for work, staring at your phone with a blank expression on your face. When he kisses you on the forehead, you mumble a halfhearted greeting.

You leave for work late even though you’ve been dressed and ready to go for hours, and your kiss goodbye is cursory; you look almost annoyed to be kissing him at all.

He watches you pull out of the garage on the security cameras and wonders if he’s done something to make you sad.

He continues to dwell on it throughout the day. He goes back to his new design (it’s a little robot hippo that reminds you to drink water; Yoosung suggested he market it as the “hydration hippo,” which is one of the reasons he loves Yoosung). He’s unfocused, though; he keeps making silly mistakes and eventually he lays the hippo prototype aside.

Saeyoung thinks back to the night before, tries to remember if he did or said anything that could have hurt you. You had cooked dinner together; he’s sure he annoyed you while trying to help, but that’s not out of the ordinary, and you’d reassured him that his “help” was adorable if not actually useful. Then you’d gone out to the garden together; it’s early fall now, and snow-white buckwheat flowers are blooming all over, glittering among the darker pinks and purples of the other blossoms. You’d laid in his lap and read a book and he’d stroked your hair. Later you’d taken a bath and come to his office to kiss his goodnight.

Of course, there were little things—did it bother you that he stayed up so late working? He thought you didn’t mind it so much now that he was doing work he really loved (and that wasn’t likely to get him killed). Were you upset that you hadn’t gone anywhere or done anything particularly exciting that day? No, that wasn’t like you—you liked going out more than he did, but you liked to stay in, too—and you’d been going out so much more than before over the last few months. Was it the way he said goodnight—was there something in his voice that had made you anxious?

Saeran drifts into the office at one point, dirt on his face and gardening tools in his hand.

“Why are you staring into space? You look kind of dumb,” Saeran says.

Saeyoung smiles because, coming from Saeran, this is a term of endearment.

“Do you think she’s mad at me?” he asks, spinning around in his chair to face his brother. Saeran, of course, doesn’t have to ask who “she” is.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Ask her.”

“Did she seem sad to you this morning?”

Saeran leans against the door frame. “She seemed a little down, I guess. She made her coffee really slowly.”

“Ugghhhh!” Saeyoung groans, spinning himself all the way around in his chair. “I can’t remember what I did to make her upset!”

Saeran chuckles. “Did it ever occur to you that she could just be having a bad day and it might have nothing to do with you?”

Saeyoung has, in fact, never thought of this.

“Really?” Suddenly, he feels a little bit better. _Right. The whole world doesn’t revolve around you, Choi Saeyoung._

“Sometimes people just don’t feel good,” Saeran says slowly, as if speaking to a child. “There doesn’t have to be a reason.”

“Right!!” Saeyoung jumps out of his chair. Okay. This is something he can fix.

“Where are you going?” asks Saeran, sighing as Saeyoung sprints past him.

“I have an idea!” Saeyoung yells over his shoulder, running to the garage.

* * *

When you get home from work several hours later, he is waiting for you there.

You roll down the window of your car as you park it in its designated spot. “Saeyoung? What…are you doing?”

Saeyoung, perched on the hood of your favorite of his cars, beams at you. The inside of the car is lit up, glowing rainbow with fairy lights that he seems to have strung up on every available service.

“Babe, why is your car rainbow?” You put your own car in park and jump out, your bag over your shoulder. You still have that empty, weary look on your face that he noticed in the morning.

“ _You_ told me your dream car would look like a unicorn threw up in it. Hop in.”

You walk over a little apprehensively.

“Are we going somewhere…? I’m honestly just hungry and thirsty and I kind of want to lay under a blanket…”

“Done, done, and done.” He throws open the passenger door for you, and he’s relieved to hear you giggle when you see the inside. Not only is the car literally pulsing with every possible color of light, he’s also draped every seat and even the floor with fuzzy blankets. There are thermoses in the cup holder and an array of different kinds of snacks stacked up on the passenger seat.

“Did I miss something?” you ask hesitantly, eyeing the inside of the car (even Saeyoung admits that it looks a little insane). “Is it a holiday of some kind?”

“Nope!” Saeyoung chirps elusively. He waits for you to get in, but you just look at him. For a moment, he wonders if he’s gotten it all wrong. What if you _do_ just want to be left alone? He swiftly decides that he knows you better than that.

He sweeps the pile of snacks onto the floor, takes one of the three blankets that are stacked on the seat, and gently drapes it over your shoulders. “Get in, princess.”

Still with some trepidation—but with a softer look in your eyes, too—you clamber into the extra-cushy seat. Saeyoung skips around to the other side and gets in; as he starts the engine, soft music filters out of the car’s (extremely good, if he does say so himself) speakers.

“This is…”

“It is a playlist I made today based on the music you’ve listened to the most in the past month, and no, I didn’t have to hack your phone to do it!”

He pulls out of the garage and feels your eyes on him.

“Is this car even legal?”

“Babe, is my _existence_ even legal?” He winks at you and you roll your eyes—but he also sees your shoulders relax just a little bit. “It’s fine. There’s not going to be anybody out on the roads we’re taking.”

He’s relieved to see you tuck your legs up under you on the seat; he knows that the more comfortable you’re feeling in a situation, the more weirdly you’ll sit.

He passes the turnoff for the highway and pulls onto a dirt road. You sit quietly, but you do tear open one of the bags of chips he’s set out for you.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask again. He rolls down the windows a little and you perk up; he knows you love the feeling of cool night air on your face.

Saeyoung isn’t sure how to explain this part. _Because I want to make you happy every minute of every day? Because I can’t bear seeing you sad?_

“You seemed down this morning,” he says finally. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me why. I just thought maybe I could help.”

You exhale loudly. “You noticed that?”

“Of course.” He notices everything about you.

“…sorry,” you say, after a moment. “I feel like I was kind of shitty to you this morning. There wasn’t a good reason for it.”

“You weren’t shitty,” he says quietly.

“No, I kinda was! Listen, it’s not like—there’s nothing wrong. I just. Do you ever wake up in the morning and feel like you want to curl up in a hole for the rest of your life?”

Saeyoung hums. “Yeah.”

“I can’t explain it. I just woke up today feeling like a slug.”

 _So Saeran was right after all._ He usually is.

“You are the most beautiful slug in the universe,” he says. You crack a little smile at that.

“I’m a slug in a super weird car, that’s for sure.”

Saeyoung makes a turn onto a long, winding path, leading into the woods that surround the bunker (he picked it, originally, for this very reason.)

“Check the glove compartment,” he says, and you open it up and then burst out laughing for the first time that day.

“You put a bottle of wine in the glove compartment?”

“For you.” He winks. “There is also tea in these thermoses and I think there’s some juice boxes under the seat.

You’re still giggling. “This is so silly,” you say, through your laughter. “This is the lightest I’ve felt all day.”

Saeyoung turns the car onto an unmarked road and then pulls over.

“Hang on, princess.” He runs to the other side and opens the door for you. Between the two of you, you gather up an armful of snacks and drinks, and he drapes a few more blankets over his shoulder.

“I don’t know why I’m even asking, but where are we?” You curiously peer around at what seems to be a dark, deserted road.

“We’re here!” he says, pointlessly. He leads the way through the trees and it’s only a few minutes before you arrive at a little clearing. The trees are thinner here, and you can see the stars.

“Wow,” you gasp. Saeyoung lays out one of the blankets and unceremoniously deposits a pile of snacks on it.

“Sit,” he says. You do, and he wraps another of the blankets around your shoulders.

“This is so beautiful,” you say. “How did I never know this was here?”

Saeyoung stretches, marveling at the way the starlight catches your hair and eyes. He always thinks your eyes are beautiful, but right now they are positively glowing.

“I found this place one time when I was testing out some of the cars’…features,” he admits to you. “I was waiting to bring you here till the right moment.”

You lay down on the blanket and he lays down beside you; you readjust so your head is on his chest, tucked under his chin.

“Thanks,” you murmur. Your hair tickles his face, but he doesn’t mind. “You made my crappy day into a really good night.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he says. You look at the stars and he watches the rising and falling of your chest as you breathe. “I would quite literally go to the ends of the universe for you. This is just some snacks and a field on the side of the road.”

You wriggle against him, getting more comfortable. “It’s everything I want,” you say.


	13. will you find me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He inhales audibly. “Are you at—” He pauses, and you know he knows, and you wonder if he doesn’t want to say her name. “—the apartment?” he finishes.
> 
> You take a deep breath and walk over to the camera, knowing the best place to stand so that he can see your eyes.
> 
> “I don’t know why I came here today," you tell him. "I just…saw the street and kind of. Needed to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh! The final installment! Thanks so much to everybody who's read and left kudos and commented. It means the world to me. <3
> 
> If you enjoyed these, I recently wrote a series of 50 vignettes for Valentine's Day (all reader x various mysme characters). You can check them out on my tumblr, if you like! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gureishi

The apartment is exactly how you remember it: it’s almost _too_ well-preserved, in fact, and as you take a cautious step over the threshold, you feel a bit like you’re walking into a time capsule. The bed is perfectly made, though of course no one has slept in it for a long time. The lockers and safe have apparently been repaired and look as clean and shiny as the first time you saw them. The lamp, the desk—everything is just as you remember it. The only difference, you think, is that the surface of the desk is bare, the files and folders and binders that used to line it gone. You’re sure the safes are empty too; anything that could’ve been evidence has long since been destroyed.

You feel, for some reason, like you’re not supposed to touch anything—like the apartment is a museum full of artifacts from your past. Rationally, you know you lived here for only a few days, but that time looms large in your memory, both thrilling and a little bit frightening.

You needlessly smooth out the imaginary wrinkles on the comforter, and it’s a relief to break your own rule, to interact with the space—to make it less sacred. The bedding on the bed is new, you suppose, but it looks much the same. You wonder vaguely who Saeyoung paid to restore the place, and why he bothered to do it at all.

You never meant to come here today. There was no grand plan, no epiphany you expected to have. You’d just taken a different route home from work and suddenly seen a familiar street name on your GPS and, before you’d realized it, you’d turned onto the street and parked and found yourself typing in the passcode (it was, after all this time, still ingrained in your memory). 

You know, of course, that Saeyoung bought the place, with the vague idea of using it for something or other. But time went by and he never mentioned it, and you’d started to wonder if he just forgot about it. _But how could be?_

As you’re thinking this, an image swims to the forefront of your memory and you find your eyes drawn to the empty corner of the room, under the window, by the desk. You picture him there, hiding behind his laptops and tangled power cords and bags of junk food and—perhaps most importantly—the invisible wall he’s built between you with the power of his own fear. You can almost see his red hair, standing on end from days of frustratedly running his fingers through it, peeking out from above his screens as he sits, typing frantically, hunched over, dark circles under his eyes. He was so much younger then, you think, both in years and in his relationship with himself and the world. He was in many ways like a scared, lonely child, desperately fighting to protect his heart.

You want to go to that version of your fiancé, swoop down on him and hug him so tight and whisper in his ear that it’s going to be alright. Suddenly, you want to rush home; you want to run your hands through his tangled curls and kiss the tips of his ears and tell him how happy you are that he exists.

Just t that moment, your phone rings, because of course it does. You aren’t at all surprised to see his name on the screen, but you _are_ surprised by way your heart stutters. It’s not at all usual for him to call you when you’re on your way home from work, to ask you to stop somewhere or to warn you that he’s built a giant robot (and he doesn’t know how to get it to stop eating the furniture) or just to say hello. A call from him is _normal_ —but the swooping sensation you feel in your stomach isn’t. Not nowadays, anyway. It’s something about being in this apartment, you think—it reminds you of how you once felt whenever he called you: like you’d grown wings, like the future was unfurling before your eyes.

“Hey babe.” You try to answer in a regular voice. You don’t want to freak him out.

“Hi.” _Oh great._ He already sounds freaked out.

 _What is a normal thing to say what is a normal thing to say—_ “I’ll be home soon!” you chirp, too brightly. Out of habit—old habit—you sit on the edge of the bed. It kind of feels like it was yesterday that you last sat on this bed, your phone clutched in one nervous hand, hearing his voice in your ear and yearning to be closer to him.

He inhales audibly. “Are you at—” He pauses, and you know he knows, and you wonder if he doesn’t want to say her name. “—the apartment?” he finishes.

“I—Choi Saeyoung, what have I told you about putting tracking devises on me without asking first?” You feel amusement first, and then annoyance. You thought this had stopped being a problem a long time ago.

“I didn’t!” He sounds a little frantic, but also genuine. “I swear I didn’t!” 

“Okay…”

He hesitates again. “I noticed you were late, and I don’t know, I guess I just sort of…had a feeling. And then, well.”

Knowing what he’s going to say before he says it, your gaze moves up the wall, above the doorframe, to the camera that’s still there—of course it is, a little green light blinking just above the lens.

“The CCTV…” You want to scold him, but you can’t find it in yourself to do so. The wave of comfort and security that washes over you as you look into the camera and know that he’s looking back is remarkable and familiar.

“I’m sorry!” he says, and he still sounds a little anxious. “I didn’t mean to spy on you or—or anything like that! I just had this gut _feeling_ and so, mostly out of curiosity, I turned the camera on. And, I mean—I was right.”

You take a deep breath and walk over to the camera, knowing the best place to stand so that he can see your eyes.

“I’m not mad at you, honey. I don’t know why I came here today either. I just…saw the street and kind of. Needed to?”

He hums gently, but doesn’t say anything.

“You restored it to how it was before,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m not sure why I did that either. I just…”

“Yeah,” you say.

He hesitates, then: “Can you stay there just a little bit longer?” he asks. “Just…I’m coming there now, so just stay still.”

A little thrill goes through your body, a visceral memory of the last time he told you this.

“I won’t move,” you say into the phone, and you know he’s thinking of that time, too. He hangs up.

* * *

You spend some time looking through the drawers, but Saeyoung has been very thorough—everything is empty. There isn’t much to do in the apartment (and you suppose there never was); instead, you let your mind wander. You remember the first time you saw the place, how you’d felt alarmed and confused and relieved all at once. At that time, you’d just needed someplace to stay. Anywhere would have done.

You stand by the window and remember the first time he called you, the first time you ever heard his voice. _Did I know, then…?_ You hold up your hand and watch the way your engagement ring sparkles in the afternoon sun filtering through the big window. You couldn’t have known everything. But you knew there was _something_.

There’s a sound from the hall, and you jump, all your senses on high alert. Your instincts tell you to hide, to duck, to grab the pepper spray-slash-personal alarm system that Saeyoung insists you always carry in your bag.

You know better, of course; the last time somebody broke into this apartment and tried to kidnap you, he ended up becoming your soon-to-be-brother-in-law. _But still._

 _Beep beep beeeeeeep._ The passcode is entered and the door swings open. You slide your bag closer, your hand ready to grab the alarm. _Just in case…_

But of course, it’s your fiancé standing in the door, his hair windswept, his sunglasses still on and his car keys dangling in his hand. 

“Heya,” he says, a small smile on his face. He pushes up his sunglasses and his golden eyes are sparkling.

“Hi, Seven,” you reply, smiling back, using the old nickname because—in that moment—it seems right. For some reason, you feel a little shy.

He blushes— _blushes_ —and inches into the room. Clearly, he feels it too: the weight of memories hanging between you, saturating the air in the apartment.

“I, uhhh—” He stumbles a little on the edge of the rug, even though it’s exactly where it’s always been. You laugh, and he laughs too, and the tension breaks.

You skip to him and throw your arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. He holds you tight, his hand at the small of your back.

“Wow,” he says, a little breathlessly, pulling away. “It’s _so much_ weirder to be here than I thought it would be.”

You nod, knowing exactly what he means. You take his hand and lead him to the bed, perching on the edge.

“Hahaahaah.” He giggles, hovering awkwardly next to you. “Why do I feel so embarrassed about sitting on the bed with you?!”

You laugh, grabbing both his hips and pulling him onto your lap.

“Better?”

“Nonono! This is way more awkward!” He laughs his beautiful high-pitched laugh and wiggles off you, opting to sit cross-legged beside you instead.

“We literally live together and sleep in the same bed every night. And also have sex. A lot,” you say. You’re teasing him, but you feel it, too. The people the two of you were in this place feel so far away and somehow so close all at once.

“Whooooaaaaa, you mean to tell me that _you_ agreed to have sex? With _me_?” He’s joking now too, but the goofy grin on his face is somewhat overshadowed by the dark blush still coloring his cheeks.

“ _Me?_ I tried to jump you pretty much the second you showed up here, as I recall,” you say. “You were the one who didn’t wanna do it!”

He shakes his head, eyes glimmering. “How was I supposed to know how good sex was when I’d basically never touched another human before? Also you were really cute and had these _legs_ and like, _arms_ , and I was absolutely terrified.”

“Ahhh, it was the legs and arms that did it for you, huh?” You lean against him and he drapes an arm around your shoulders. 

“Among other things,” he says. He pauses and then when he speaks his voice is quieter, his tone more serious. “I honestly kind of thought we might never come back here.”

“Yeah.” You look around the room again. The sun has started to set, and the warm glow it casts over the somewhat melancholy array of furniture stirs something in you. “I’m glad you bought it, though. I mean…it’s complicated when I think about some of the things that happened here, and I don’t think Saeran would want to see it, or know that we came here.”

Saeyoung thoughtfully taps his fingers on your leg. “Maybe someday. Probably not yet.” He pauses. _Tap tap tap._ “Do you think we should change it? Like, get rid of everything and start over? Use it for something?”

You think about this. It feels so silly to have all the old furniture here, to own a whole apartment and just leave it unused. “Maybe someday,” you say, echoing him. “Probably not yet.”

“Yeah, I thought that too.” He sounds relieved. “I think it’s…okay to not be ready for that yet. It’s okay to hold onto some stuff.”

You turn so you’re facing him and kick your legs into his lap. “We’re still those same people,” you say. “I’m still this lost girl who’s just looking for a place to stay. And who develops a huge crush on a brilliant, funny, mysterious man.”

Saeyoung laughs. “I mean, I’m still a weird loser who knows more about computers than people.” You raise your eyebrows. “But a _cute_ and _cool_ weird loser who has for some reason been chosen by the smartest, prettiest, badass-est woman in the universe.” He kisses the tips of your fingers.

You wriggle all the way into his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. He kisses up your arm and across your shoulder.

“Are we still gonna be those people when we get married?” you ask him, already a little distracted by the heat on your skin as he feathers kisses up your neck.

“When we get married, and when we move to a house with windows, and when we get even richer and I buy a leopard, and when we’re one hundred and ten and live on the moon,” he whispers between kisses. His hands skate over your hips, onto your waist, under your shirt.

“A leopard?” you gasp, your attention on his hands, on his warm lips now tracing a pattern down the other side of your neck.

“Doesn’t have to be a leopard,” he murmurs. His hips twitch under yours and you wiggle closer, gazing at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Thanks for finding me today, babe,” you whisper. His hands move up your chest, caressing your skin and making you squirm.

“I’m always gonna find you,” he says. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and your back arches, every point of contact setting off a firework in your bloodstream. 

The sun sets; the apartment grows dark, the familiar-yet-strange furniture casting long shadows, the air permeated with the scent of fall flowers. Time passes. You don’t even notice.


End file.
